Dempsey & Makepeace One More Bite Of The Apple
by Krato
Summary: This is a 'Now & Then' story and I know not everybody likes them but because M&G are still a real life couple, I just wanted to give it a go. Set partly present day and partly 1986/7.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Ed Cavanagh drank down the last of the remaining litre of fresh orange juice and dropped the empty carton into the kitchen bin. After turning the bacon over under the grill, he quickly spread several slices of bread, all the time singing along to the music, which was blasting out, from the ipod speakers on the windowsill. Having demolished the large bowl of chilli and rice left for him by his mum nearly two hours ago, bacon sandwiches was the perfect supper. Mum didn't approve, particularly when he slathered the butter on too thick but seeing as she was out, he could indulge himself in his guilty pleasure.

Ed stood dead still for a moment, knife poised in mid-air. Was that the doorbell? He swore softly and turned the music down. This time the low chimes rang out clear enough for him to hear properly. For a second he debated whether or not to leave the bacon cooking but reasoned it was better to be safe than sorry and after quickly grabbing the oven mitts, yanked the grill pan out and deposited it on the hob.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," he mumbled when the doorbell sounded gain.

Jogging across the tiled hallway, he got to the front door and pulled it open.

Ed didn't recognise the visitor; a man probably in his fifties (Ed wasn't too good with ages so he really couldn't be sure) with dark collar length hair, dressed casually in jeans and an open –necked shirt and surprisingly fashionable brown leather shoes.

"Hi," Ed greeted him.

The man appeared momentarily stunned.

"Hi," he replied after some hesitation. "I wonder if you can help me. I'm looking for a lady by the name of Harriet Makepeace."

"Makepeace?" Ed grinned. "She hasn't been _Makepeace _for donkeys years."

It was only then that he registered the accent. This man was American and suddenly Ed was feeling distinctly uneasy although he wasn't entirely sure why.

Yeah, right – sorry. So she lives here? I've got the right place?" the man asked tentatively.

"Yeah, she's Harriet Cavanagh now. Makepeace was the name of her first husband like twenty-odd years ago."

Ed frowned, trying to latch onto the abstract thoughts flitting through his mind. "Is that when you know her from then?"

"Erm, yeah ... we were friends a long time ago, didn't keep in touch though."

The man looked uncomfortable, moving from one foot to the other, glancing back down the drive like he needed to get away. "So is she in?" He cleared his throat and asked a little more determinedly, "Is Harry home?"

And then something clicked in Ed's brain; he recognised something in this man that was at once familiar and yet intangibly hazardous. It suddenly felt as though this mans' very presence had been inevitable.

"No!" Ed heard his own voice ring out. "She's not here. She won't be back 'til later tonight." He ran a hand through his dark brown hair, leaning more heavily on the edge of the door. "Who shall I say called?" he asked nervously.

"So you're her son, right?" asked the American, ignoring Ed's question.

"Yeah."

The broad grin that quickly reached his eyes was reassuringly sincere. "That's real nice."

But it was lost again on the next question. "How about your dad. Is he home?"

Ed felt ridiculously like a child again, not the capable, independent (well, reasonably so) twenty year old man who should have the guts to just ask this person who he was and exactly what it was he wanted with his mother.

"He doesn't live here – they're divorced. Look," he added quickly, "can I take a message, a phone number or something?"

But the American was backing up, preparing to walk away. "I'll come back."

"When?"

The man turned, anxious to go.

"Tonight?" Ed called out as he reached the driveway gates.

The man raised a hand in farewell, not even turning back again.

Ed remained on the doorstep, watching him climb into a sporty little black BMW and drive away like the devil himself was on his tail. A feeling of deep agitation began to flow through his veins as half forgotten conversations and tiny snippets of information began to fuse like liquid mercury.

Almost without needing to think, he reached down into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his mobile. It rang out three, four, five times and just as he started to panic that it might go onto voicemail, it was answered.

"What's up, muppet boy?" came a giggling female voice and he could hear music and voices in the background. Sounded like she was in a pub.

"This bloke was just at the door ... just now," he said without preamble. He didn't quite know what to say, how to explain himself.

"Yeah?" she asked restlessly, eager to get back into the conversation she was now missing out on. "So did you tell him that you don't talk to strangers?"

"Shut up a minute 'cause you might be interested."

"So go on then," she pushed, not trying to hide her impatience.

"He was after Mum ... called her Harriet Makepeace. 'bout her age ... American."

He could tell from the silence at the other end of the phone that that conglomeration of words was having an effect.

"Shit," she said at last. "Where is Mum?"

"Late night shopping. I think she just wanted to get something to wear to Rosie's party. She'll probably be home soon."

"So what exactly did this man say, Ed?"

"Not much really." He struggled to recall the run of the conversation. "He asked if Harriet Makepeace lived here and I told him she was Cavanagh now. He said they'd been friends a long time ago. He asked if she or Dad was in."

"Dad?" his sister queried.

"And when I said I'd take a message, he cleared off. Said he'd come back."

"When?"

"Dunno."

"Didn't you ask, you prat?"

Ed made a noise down the phone as if he were suffering some sort of retardation. "Course I did. I told you, he just walked off."

There was a pause before she asked, "What did he look like?" She spoke very quietly and Ed struggled to hear the words..

"Look like? S'ppose he was reasonably tall, dark hair, quite well built, you know, for a bloke his age. Had a decent motor too, BMW Coupe, chrome wheel trims and ...

"For god's sake Ed, I don't care what he was frigging driving!" she hissed with exasperation.. "What if he comes back tonight?"

Ed too was showing signs of stress. "I don't know do I, that's why I'm ringing you."

"Shall I come over? I'll come over," she answered her own question. "I'll get a few things together and stop the night."

Ed felt relieved but still anxious. "Shall I say anything to Mum?"

"No, better not, he might not come back at all. No point getting Mum all worked up about nothing."

"How d'you know she'd get worked up?"

"The fact that you're bothering to phone me rather implies you're convinced it was him. That being the case, don't you think Mum might be just a little bit concerned?"

"Alright, don't have a go at me."

Ed found he was back in the kitchen, staring at the congealing bacon on the side. He didn't recall walking back in.

"I'll be over in about forty-five minutes, I'm leaving the pub now, okay?"

He could tell by the little jolts in her voice that she was moving quickly.

"Don't mention to Mum that I'm coming. I haven't been over for more than a week so we'll just be catching up, okay? Okay Ed?" she repeated insistently when he didn't respond immediately.

"Yeah, fine, whatever."

"Eddie!" she whimpered.

He tried to breath deeply a couple of times. "Sorry. I'm sorry. It'll be sweet, yeah."

"God, I'm scared."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Harry arrived home twenty minutes later and headed straight upstairs to put her purchases away.

"Have you been cooking bacon?" she shouted down.

"Yeah," he called back, "you should be a detective."

"Well I hope you've cleaned up after yourself."

He had – for once. It had been automatic, a bizarre reaction to the American showing up; he subconsciously felt the need to cushion his mother from any possible hurt at the moment.

He stayed in his room until his sister arrived half an hour later and then raced downstairs to get to the door first.

She gave him a questioning look and he silently shook his head. It had suddenly struck him that she could've been the American returning and his heart bounced around for a few seconds until he pushed the thought away.

"It's the filth, Mother," he shouted out, not knowing exactly where she was.

Harry leaned over from the first floor landing. "Edward!" she reprimanded "Don't!"

His sister cuffed him across the back of the head as she walked past him into the hall.

"Police brutality!" he yelped.

Harriet tripped downstairs, smiling broadly and she too lightly smacked his head before taking her daughter in her arms and hugging her.

"Hello my darling. And to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"Well, you know – haven't seen you for a while and it's still a bit strange not being at home. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Harry held her a little away and reaching out, stroked her fingers through her daughter's rich, brown locks. "That's very sweet of you."

She then took her by the hand and lead her through to the kitchen, saying, "I've got a couple of bottles of that Zinfandel you like so much in the fridge so I hope that unfeasibly large handbag you've got there means you're stopping over tonight."

"I thought I might."

Impulsively, Harry kissed her cheek. "Good."

Taking a couple of glasses down from the cupboard, she called out, "Ed, are you having a drink?"

"Wouldn't mind a beer if there's one going," came the disembodied reply.

Jay moved to the fridge and took out the wine and a bottle of beer, handing one to Harry and going into the lounge to deliver the other.

"Do you think he'll show up?" she murmured, sitting herself on the arm of his chair.

"Do you want him to?"

"Course I don't." She hesitated. "I don't think so. It'd only make trouble. But I'd like to see him. I'd like to know what he's like." She took a swig from the beer bottle she was still holding. "Do you know what I mean?"

Ed took the bottle off her with a frown. "Do you think Mum would want to see him again, after all this time?"

"Depends. If she was hung up about him before ..." she let the sentence trail.

Harry walked in with the two glasses. "You two are looking very conspiratorial," she smirked. "Anything I should know about?"

They both laughed off the accusation but Harry hadn't spent all those years in the force for nothing; she read their body language and listened to what they didn't say. She noticed Jay in particular didn't seem able to relax, even after her second glass of wine and the pair of them were jumpy as hell. Harry began to suspect that another visit from Phil might be on the horizon.

* * *

Just after 2:30pm, Harry closed down her laptop and with a small, self-satisfied smile, took off her glasses. Finished and sent well before the deadline and it had been quite an interesting article to write which was an added bonus. Sam Tate, the founder of Carnaby Luxe had really dragged himself out of the gutter thirty years ago and built his fashion empire out of nothing. Having been born with the proverbial silver spoon in her mouth, Harry couldn't help but be impressed by the mans irrepressible determination and salty tenacity. Quite attractive too, she mused.

For a number of years now, this sort of freelance journalism had been a source of income for Harry; not that she needed it, having inherited a sizeable fortune after her father, Freddy Winfield had died. More importantly though she thoroughly enjoyed the research involved, the digging about, exposing the hidden facts and the untruths. And she was bloody good at it – just as Detective Sergeant Makepeace had been before she threw in the towel.

She suddenly realised how hungry she was, having eaten nothing since a bowl of muesli at breakfast. She wondered if she could be bothered to make an omelette and salad or would opening a can of soup suffice? Something light anyway so she could go for a run later.

After surveying the contents of the fridge briefly she decided upon a cheese omelette; there was a small piece of Edam that needed using up. As Harry picked up a couple of eggs the doorbell sounded. She tutted in annoyance and slammed the fridge door shut again. If it was Phil, she was determined to give him short shrift.

Whoever it was, it wasn't Philip; he always positioned himself on the very top step, peering in through the small panes of leaded glass, checking for signs of life within.

Harry opened the door with her 'pleasant' expression on her face and fixed on the figure standing, hands in jacket pockets on the bottom of the three steps. As he looked up at her and made eye contact she felt her jaw slacken.

"Oh my god," she managed.

"Hi Harry."

She had last seen that grin twenty-three years ago.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"_You know it's gonna happen one day princess so why fight it?" he joked, the lapels of her jacket in his hands, his mouth inches from hers._

"_Yes, but that will be a cold day in hell, Dempsey, I can assure you of that."_

"_I gotta admit, you hide your lust well."_

"_Sod off!" Harry pushed him firmly away, laughing despite herself. _

_The trouble was he was right, it was going to happen and sooner rather than later because she had fallen in love with him. It had been a very stupid thing to do she admitted to herself which was why Dempsey had been quite correct in saying she was 'fighting it'. Well everybody knew, didn't they, that under no circumstances should you mix business with pleasure and she knew that Spikings, closely followed by 'upstairs' would be extremely quick to point that out should they get wind of any change in their personal relationship. But then it was also a fact that 'love will find a way'._

_They continued walking, Dempsey catching hold of her hand. They had (surprisingly, in both their opinions) thoroughly enjoyed the film. Sharing a similar sense of humour, the Planes, Trains and Automobiles comedy had had them both chuckling. Being in such high spirits now, neither of them really wanted to end the evening there. _

"_It's still early. Whadya wanna do now?" he asked._

_Harry turned her head just long enough to catch his eye before looking away with a little smile._

_Dempsey pulled on her hand. "What? What was that look?"_

"_What look?"_

"_You know what look."_

"_I was just wondering."_

"_Yeah? What?"_

_Harry hunched her shoulders and feigned a small shudder. "Don't you think it's turned a bit chilly?"_

"_Can't say that I'd ..." he stopped walking but Harry carried on and their hands separated._

_Quickly he jogged up to her, drawing level again. "Chilly as in cold, right?"_

"_That generally is what 'chilly' implies."_

"_And what else does it imply, Sergeant?"_

_Her eyes flickered over his face before she gazed off across the street. "Looking for hidden meanings, Lieutenant?"_

_He remained silent, afraid to risk any sort of response for fear of saying the wrong thing. Instead, he took her hand again and they continued walking, this time at a mutually slower pace, despite the quickening of his heartbeat. She was killing him, it was almost not funny any more, this slowly burning fuse of banter. He wanted her so badly, body and soul, so deep and painful. Nothing else mattered now - there was only Harry._

_They wandered back to his car, going a full four minutes without speaking. To Dempsey's surprise she followed him to the drivers side and leaned on the door to prevent him opening it._

_He regarded her questioningly._

"_So?" she asked._

_He shrugged. "We could find a pub by the river. The Charlatan is good. We went there a few months ago, remember?"_

_She shook her head, dismissing his words. "Do you think it's turned cold?"_

_Why was she still playing this game? Why couldn't she use real words to tell him how much he meant to her and how much she wanted to mean to him? Why was it so hard? It had almost got to the point where she didn't care if she was going to be just another notch on his bedpost. She so desperately wanted to feel love from him that even the sham of lust would be welcome if it could fill the void for a few hours. And in truth, wouldn't that be better? No matter how much she desired it, how judicious would a full-blown relationship be in their situation?_

_She swallowed down her nerves and this slight spasm of her throat reinforced Dempsey's awareness of the charged atmosphere between them. _

_He chose his words carefully. "It's been cold for a few months now. I've leant to live with it."_

_Their eyes were locked. Harry brought both arms up and looped them around his neck, just wanting to feel the pressure of his body against hers, his mouth covering hers. "We could warm each other up," she suggested mildly._

_He smiled down at her and grazed her cheek with the knuckles of his right hand. "So what's brought this on?"_

"_Must you question everything I say?"_

_Time slowed and then fortunately stopped as their lips touched, teasing, testing, pushing softly for a greater response, seeking out the clinging warmth they both craved so badly. Long seconds ticked by, developing into languid minutes. There was nothing else in the world now but the two of them, touching, tasting, breathing as one, desperate for the feel of the others warm skin and the tantalising weight of restless limbs._

_The spell was instantly broken when a red Ford Cortina carrying four leery youths crawled past them, scant inches away from Dempsey's back. There was some wolf-whistling and several salacious comments aimed at them but while Harry chose to ignore it, Dempsey was unable to refrain from retaliation._

_Stepping further out into the road as the car slowly moved by, he flipped them the finger, yelling, "Suck it up you morons." And then, slamming the flat of his hand against the boot, shouted, not without a modicum of humour, "You've ruined a tender moment here!"_

_More jeering and laughter could be heard as the car sped up and disappeared around the corner. _

_He walked back to Makepeace who was smiling at his outburst._

"_Pub?" she asked._


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm really nervous about posting this chapter because it's quite a pivotal one and you may have certain expectations about it. I've read and re-read but I tend to find that once it's down in writing, it's set in stone and amendments don't feel right. I should also point out that since getting into D&M fanfic, I've been consuming at least one glass of wine every night ... can't imagine why ;-) _

_Thanks for all the wonderful feedback – it's such a major incentive to keep writing. So here goes ..._

_Chapter 4_

"Dempsey! James ..."

She had called him both at the end, along with a few other slightly choicer names but 'Dempsey' was what came out of her mouth first.

"What are you ..." she stumbled, "what are you doing here?"

In the last ten seconds his eyes had taken in every inch of her, studying, appraising, appreciating every physical aspect of her.

"I've had warmer welcomes," he observed, his eyes now firmly on hers.

A strange, fiery cold wave swept through Harry's chest like a cross between sheer panic and an adrenalin high. The sound of his voice ...

Her voice came out very small when she said, "It's been a very long time."

"Too long," he said softly.

She found her arms reflexively crossing over her body as they continued to stare at each other until some shade of reality kicked in and flustered, she asked, "Do you ... do you want to come in?" Harry stood back, holding the door open for him.

Dempsey hopped up the steps and followed her inside. When she turned back from closing the door, she found him looking about him admiringly.

"Nice place," he said, still looking. "Very you. Elegant. I like it."

"I'm glad it meets with your approval."

Harry caught her breath, waiting for his reaction to the throwaway comment. She wouldn't have said it if she hadn't been so completely taken by surprise by his turning up like this. Why couldn't she just have thanked him and left it as that? Instead, she had to make that glib remark, exactly as she would've done over twenty years ago. But he just smiled, his hands still in his pockets.

"Why don't you come through."

She walked stiffly down the hall and through to the kitchen. "I'll make us a drink. Tea or coffee?"

"Whatever you're having."

Had his voice deepened a little with age?

Harry moved towards the kettle and then spun around, frowning. She threw her hands up and groaned. "You know, I think that actually I could use a real drink right now."

It seemed to break the tension a little. "A beer or something would be good," he agreed.

"There's beer, wine, spirits, whatever you want."

And then her head caught up with her hearing and she repeated, "Beer. Okay."

She took a bottle from the fridge along with a bottle of Chardonnay that she'd started a couple of days before.

"So your boy told you to expect me, huh?" he asked jovially, eyebrows raised, indicating the Budweiser.

"Ed? What do you mean?" _What could he possibly know about Ed?_

"I stopped by the other night, didn't he say?"

"No, he didn't. When?" It didn't feel right, knowing he'd been here already when she hadn't been around.

"Thursday. You weren't home."

"Oh. No."

She turned back to the counter top and took a glass from the cupboard, pouring out the wine full to the brim. She took a slug before turning back to face him, feeling the effects immediately.

"Shall we sit down?" Harry indicated the kitchen table under the window.

"Got a bottle opener?"

She took a deep breath. "Sorry."

They both laughed.

Harry took the bottle off him with trembling fingers.

"I'm shaking, Dempsey." She was annoyed with herself.

"You and me both."

Harry uncapped the bottle and handed it back.

"Okay," she whispered to herself and took a seat opposite Dempsey at the table.

"You think we should wait a few minutes?" he asked her.

"What for?"

"Because we obviously just want to look at each other, check each other out, right?"

Harry laughed uneasily – he was so near the mark it was frightening. She quickly downed another mouthful of wine.

"So, what have you been doing with yourself for the past twenty-three years?" she asked recklessly.

Dempsey chugged half of his beer before he answered. "Stuff," he said, placing the bottle very precisely onto the table, "and you?"

Same old Dempsey.

"So you want me to go first?"

"If you insist."

Harry contemplated her answer for a moment and decided that she could be just as flippant.

"Got married – again. Had a couple of kids and got divorced – again. You?"

"When did you get married?"

Harry took another large sip of wine. "Nineteen eighty-eight," she told him quietly.

"Whoa!"

She shrugged it off.

"You didn't waste no time Harry."

It was fourteen months after we split up actually. Philip Cavanagh. He was a jeweller in Knightsbridge, well, he still is."

"How long did it last?"

"I think I would have to say too long."

Dempsey raised his eyebrows.

"Seventeen years," she sighed.

"That's very impressive."

"Not really."

"And now?"

"Now what?"

The wine had gone and so had the beer.

"You with anyone?"

He really had no right to ask but then, what possible difference could her answer make to either of them?

"I don't have a number three lined up, put it that way."

Dempsey made a face. "C'mmon, I saw 'em queuin' around the corner when I arrived." And then he added almost shyly, "You ain't changed much Harry."

She pushed her chair back and went to the fridge again. After getting another Budweiser, Harry collected the bottle of wine off the kitchen counter and brought them both back to the table. She felt rather light-headed and realised it wasn't only Dempsey's presence and the alcohol but also the fact that she still hadn't eaten.

"Your turn," she said over her shoulder as she went to the cupboard for pretzels.

"I've got even less to tell." He accepted a pretzel and chewed thoughtfully. "Never married. One kid. The end."

"Boy or girl?"

"Boy – Jack. He's fifteen now."

Why did it seem so strange that he should have a child when she herself had two?

"Where is he?"

"Jersey."

"Have you been in The States since you left?"

"British Jersey, the island, not New Jersey."

"Oh?"

Now that was a surprise. She's just assumed he'd been living in America because that was where he'd gone after he left.

"I set up a security business over there. A lot of filthy rich people with a need for some heavy duty security."

"Sounds lucrative."

"I make enough out of it."

"Are you here on holiday?"

"Nope." He raised his beer to his mouth, watching her as he drank. "I live here. Moved back six months ago."

Harry really didn't know how to react to that bombshell. That he was sitting here right now in front of her was enough of a shock but to be told he lived in the same city! And why had he chosen now to get in touch? Why wait so long?

"I see." She shifted in her chair.

He'd changed very little she reflected. Same sinewy athletic build, maybe a few pounds heavier . His hair was still thick and plentiful; greying slightly around the temples and with a fuller face but he was still ... yes, she allowed herself, yes, he was still very attractive.

She forced herself back to the conversation.

"Whereabouts?"

"In Kingston, about half an hours drive away."

He's been living half an hour away from her and only now decided to get in touch! Should she feel slighted?

"Why're you back in London if your business is on Jersey?"

"My, erm, circumstances changed. I put a guy in to run it for me and bought myself a bar here in London."

"A bar? You run a bar?"

Harry actually found herself laughing.

Dempsey grinned. "Yeah, why is that so funny? It's a very nice bar actually."

She was still laughing. "I don't doubt it. I just have this mental image of you doing the Tom Cruise thing, you know, with the cocktail shaker."

Demspey tipped his head to one side and clicked his tongue. "Just can't seem to get that. Gimme another six months and I'll've nailed it."

Harry suddenly felt ridiculously emotional. It was his fault for making her laugh. She had to force a smile and damn him, he noticed.

"You okay?"

It was just a feeling or a mixture of feelings that had conspired to cleanse away the years, an emotional de ja vu.

"I'm fine. I haven't eaten since breakfast and this isn't good on an empty stomach." She tapped the base of her wine glass. "I was going to make an omelette earlier if you'd care to join me."

What was she doing, asking him to eat with her? Cooking for him! A cup of coffee and then out, that would've been the sensible thing to do but instead she was plying him with alcohol and offering to cook him a meal.

Dempsey sat up. "Hey, if you're hungry we could go out and grab a bite to eat."

"Ah, no," she said with finality.

He busied himself finishing off the beer. "It was just a thought, neutral ground and all."

"And why do you think I need neutral ground?" Her voice had risen a note or two.

"Why do you think I'm talkin' about you?" he retorted.

"Oh."

Dempsey lowered his head and brushed at some imaginary detritus on the sleeve of his jacket. "Been psyching myself up for weeks to come see you," he said sullenly.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

It clearly made him quite uncomfortable just admitting that.

"So why did you?" she asked, realising too late how that might sound. "Sorry," she added quickly. "What I meant was, what made you decide to find me ... and how did you find me come to that?"

"I traced you through Winfield Hall. Figured you'd never sell the family pile, even if you didn't want to live there yourself. Wasn't hard to go through council records for an owners address."

"Mmm. You don't exactly need to be a detective."

They smiled at each other.

"When did Freddy ..." he hesitated.

"Die?" Harry filled in. "It was twenty years ago, you don't need to practice your sensitivity on me."

"Am I allowed to say I'm sorry?"

Harry sighed and drained her wine glass. "Not doing terribly well, am I?"

"How do you mean?"

"It's a shock seeing you again. I'm afraid I'm being rather snippy with you."

Dempsey shrugged. "Like comin' home."

He was patting down his pockets distractedly so Harry asked what he'd lost.

"My cigarettes," he mumbled and stopped searching, "which I don't have because I don't smoke, at least, that's what I've been telling myself for the last twenty-three years."

Harry gave in to her puzzlement. "So do you or don't you?"

"Officially, no, unofficially, in times of stress I've been known to chain-smoke a pack or two." He smiled ruefully. "You're in shock and I'm stressed. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea, huh?"

"Maybe a tad awkward," she ventured.

"Maybe just a tad," he agreed in an excellent British upper class accent, making her laugh fondly.

"Do me a favour, Harry?" He scraped his chair back, getting to his feet and moving around the table.

She looked up at him in surprise as he reached for both her hands.

"Gimme a hug?"

Harry let it happen simply because it was easier than fighting it. She stood impassive in his arms, willing it to end, willing him to let her go and silently praying that he wouldn't look into her eyes and see the tears that were brimming there. If she had just this second been awoken from a deep sleep, she would still have know exactly where she was; the smell of him, the way his chin rested on the crown of her head, the way his fingers first inched around her waist before gathering her into his embrace. It was as though the years had just evaporated in a haze of grinding hurt. But there were no regrets she told herself, there just couldn't be. She forced her hands up and across his back, her fingertips sliding over supple, warm leather. Now she should pat his back; friends, nice to see you again, such a long time ago, but for a moment she hesitated and her eyes closed, her cheek on his shoulder. Could it have been different?

Abruptly, Harry pulled away, refusing to meet his eyes. "So could you manage that omelette?"

She went to the fridge and began assembling the ingredients, chatting through her nerves. "If I don't eat soon I'm going to pass out. Can I get you another drink? Finish off that wine if you like."

"How comfortable is your sofa?" Dempsey asked.

"What?"

"I'll be spending the night on it if we keep this up. Like the old days." He winked.

Harry winced. "As I recall, in 'the old days' we'd think nothing of getting behind the wheel after five or six drinks. It was only when you couldn't actually stand upright that you crashed on my sofa."

"Yeah, but when I started crashing in your bed it was much more fun when we were stone cold sober."

"Dempsey!" she warned.

He nodded. "And you'll notice I still have the big mouth."

He hadn't said whether he wanted the omelette or not but Harry had already broken four eggs into a bowl and was now frantically chopping and slicing red pepper, onions and mushrooms.

"Want me to do anything?" he asked.

_Yes – just go. Make it easy for both of us._

Instead, she told him that everything was under control.

"So how do you fill your days?" he said at length.

"Not with coffee mornings and charity work if that's what you're thinking."

She beat the eggs a little harder.

"Okay," he said patiently. "So what do you do for a living?"

Harry stopped beating and took an edifying breath. The insinuation being that she didn't need to work and any work she did do was just playing at the real world.

"I keep the wolf from the door by writing," she told him, casting a tight smile over her shoulder.

"What, like books?" He sounded surprised.

"No, like free-lance journalism. I write articles and sell them to newspapers and magazines."

"That's great."

She could feel him watching her as she grated some cheese and got a couple of plates out.

"Did you keep in touch with anyone, from SI10 I mean?" he wanted to know.

"Chas. You remember Chas Jarvis?"

"Sure I do. What's he doin' now?"

"Still in the force. Upstairs."

Dempsey chuckled. "Upstairs? Good for him. He still with, erm, what was her name ...?"

"Alice," they both said together.

Harry nodded. "Oh yes. Three children and they celebrate their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary next year."

"Now that's commitment."

Harry poured the egg mixture into the frying pan and picked up a spatula.

"It's Rosie's – that's their eldest – it's her birthday next month. They're throwing her a big party. Alice loves organising big parties."

Dempsey considered this for a minute. "Maybe I should stop by, show my face. Chas and me used to have some laughs. I don't remember Alice too well, I think I only met her a couple of times."

Harry refused to take the bait. She wasn't about to take him along as an uninvited guest, even if she had wanted to.

"And Gordon Spikings. What happened to him?"

"That was quite sad actually. Spikings took early retirement and then had a heart attack eighteen months later ... died."

"Harry?"

She turned to look at him as she threw garnish onto the plates.

"You starting' to feel old?"

"Never!" she said firmly.

He grinned. "Me neither."

They ate their meal together, chatting amicably enough, mostly about SI10 days, the villains they had banged to rights, the people they had worked with and then on to the inadequacies of current policing methods and the ineffectual laws in place. Dempsey was delighted to learn that Harry's daughter was now a fully fledged member of her majesty's police force, having passed through her training course with flying colours only three months before.

After a second cup of coffee Dempsey declared it was time for him to go.

"Well, it's been nice seeing you again," Harry acknowledged. And it had been in the end. But with Ed due home soon, she was glad she wouldn't have to introduce them; she didn't want to have to explain the presence of an old lover to her son.

"Look, Harry," he said suddenly. "What are you doing Friday?"

"Friday? I'm not sure," she flustered.

"No, nothing heavy," he placated, seeing her wariness. "It's just that it'd be great if you'd come over and see the bar," He reached into an inside breast pocket and fumbled with the contents. "Here." He pressed a plastic business card into her hand, navy blue and gold. "Friday is always a real good night, I promise you'll enjoy yourself."

He read the instant reticence in her body language.

"Bring your kids along, they'll love it."

Harry laughed, absently reading the card he had given her. _Dempsey's Bar_. A South-West London address, live music, food, the usual blurb and the fact that she was in possession of a members' privilege card, flashed onto the reverse.

"I'm ... privileged," she observed ironically.

"You'll be my guests for the night."

Harry placed the card on the table and cleared away the coffee cups, smiling, trying to formulate a gentle let-down.

"Best seat in the house?" he tempted.

Harry leaned back on the counter top. "Look, James," she began, "it's very sweet of you but ..." those puppy dog eyes were on her and she faltered, "but I don't see the point of ..." that long, lingering look with the suggestion of a smile, "it's such a long time ago and ..." He raised his eyebrows and let her stumble on, positively refusing to help her out. "Why go stirring things up now?"

God, she was blushing.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_It hadn't happened that night, nor the night after._

_Ironically, it had been the input of the dodgy West End jeweller, Sammy D'Marco, the target of an undercover sting which proved to be the catalyst to the consummation of their relationship. Late the following Wednesday afternoon, posing as a loved-up couple, they had entered his shop, asking to be shown diamond engagement rings. After they had seen several of the top end of the market jewels and not found one to Harry's liking, D'Marco had brought through a tray from the back room bearing a selection of rings from a newly arrived 'consignment'. Harry had quickly identified the pieces from the photographs they had been given at the office of jewellery taken from a series of burglaries in the local area. Sammy D'Marco had been arrested. The man had professed himself to be completely astounded. He said he had rarely met a couple so much in love as they had appeared to be and he would never have dreamt in a million years that he was being set up. He said that the pair deserved an Oscar. The comment from Dempsey, whispered into Harry's ear as they had filed out of the shop that he 'couldn't act his way out of a paper bag', had melted her bones. He had surreptitiously squeezed her hand to confirm his meaning and she had squeezed back, sheer wonderment and burgeoning desire in the look that passed between them._

_Sammy D'Marco had been processed in double-quick time and reports typed and submitted. They had only spoken to each other where necessary but their eyes had said a great deal more._

_As Harry picked up her handbag and extracted her car keys she turned casually to Dempsey at his desk behind her saying, "Be seeing you then."_

_He glanced up, coffee cup in hand. "Yeah, have a great night, tiger."_

"_I'm sure I will." She bounced the car keys in the palm of her hand, smiled and turned on her heel. "Goodnight all," she called to those few still remaining in the office. There were general mutterings of farewell._

_Dempsey watched her departure over the rim of his cup, mesmerised by the sway of her hips and the way that that skirt clung to her shapely behind. He spent a few minutes straightening files on the desk and tidying away paperclips before he too took his leave._

_Downstairs in the parking lot, Harry was sitting straight-backed behind the steering wheel of her car. Dempsey tapped on the window._

"_Still here, Sergeant?"_

_Harry looked up slyly. "I was just thinking, maybe you'd like to have dinner at my place tonight."_

"_Well, that's very nice of you." He scratched his head, squinting into the distance before bringing his face down to hers. "Tell you what, how 'bout I follow you home in my car?"_

"_Fine." Harry turned the key in the ignition and the engine throbbed to life._

"_Oh and Sergeant?"_

_She looked up again._

"_Better put your foot down … I'm real hungry."_

* * *

_They didn't actually eat until 10:00pm, having spent a good three hours devouring each other. It had been too late to cook so they dined on smoked salmon sandwiches and New York cheesecake, washed down with a perfectly chilled bottle of Champagne that they finished off back in bed. Sleeping was postponed until the early hours of the morning when exhaustion finally overtook them._

_As usual, the next morning, Harry started to wake a few minutes before the alarm went off. She lay dozing, a smile gradually drifting across her lips as she slowly became aware of Dempsey's warmth beside her, of their arms and legs entwined, his head nestled low against her breasts. Her eyes flickered open and in the half-light she was able to survey their naked bodies, only partially covered by the quilt. Dempsey stirred, making a brief sound of contentment deep in his throat. The hand resting on her hip slid down to mould around her buttock and he snuffled at her breast, his mouth lazily kissing her there in his sleep._

_She had never felt so uninhibited in bed with a man as she had felt with him last night. She could say anything, do anything and he would demand more and give more than she had ever dreamed possible. It had almost been a revelation to know that she was capable of experiencing that degree of physical pleasure and the very thought of last night began to charge her body with a pulsing carnal energy. When the alarm began beeping though, she was pulled out of her reverie and into a state of full consciousness. She struggled to extricate herself from Dempsey's hold but he seemed to be dragging her closer into him._

"_Nah, too early, not yet," he mumbled, pushing his face into her hair._

"_We've got work to go to," she reminded him softly, continuing to lay in his arms for a moment._

"_We'll play hooky and make love all day." His head suddenly popped up in front of hers, eyes wide open. "Whaddya say, princess?"_

_Harry smiled up into his face. "It's certainly a nice idea but not one I'd feel comfortable explaining to Spikings."_

"_He's a man of the world, he'd understand," and to prevent any possible contradiction, he lowered his mouth onto hers. After a few moments she found the strength to push him away and her arm reached across to turn the ever-insistent alarm clock off._

"_Isn't that annoying you, 'cause it's annoying the hell out of me?"_

_Dempsey dragged her arm away and rolled over on top of her, all in one languid motion. "You're so sexy when you get angry," he told her, trailing a succession of tiny kisses down her throat._

"_I mean it," she warned. "Turn the bloody thing off or I'll scream!"_

_His kisses had moved down between her breasts. "Oh yeah," he grinned, "scream baby, scream for me!"_

_Harry gasped when his lips began making a little sucking motion on her stomach and it went concave involuntarily. She batted at his head half-heartedly. "Stop it, Dempsey. Come on, we've got to get up."_

"_I'm up already."_

_She felt the change in the shape of his mouth upon her skin as he smiled. The fingertips of her right hand had at last successfully located the 'off' button on the alarm clock and she lay back gratefully blissed out on the silence, only now she was also free to focus on the delicious sensations his tongue was creating on her stomach._

"_James …" It came out as a dreamy sort of 'Jamezzzzzz'._

"_We can spare half an hour."_

"_No we can't, particularly as one of us will need to get to the office ten minutes before the other otherwise somebody's bound to comment."_

_Dempsey's head suddenly flew up. "What! You're kidding! My first words when we walked in hand in hand were gonna be 'Listen up everybody. Me and Harry finally did it last night, in fact we did it 'til we couldn't see straight'."_

_Giggling, Harry took the opportunity to move up the bed into a sitting position._

"_The trouble is, I wouldn't put it past you."_

_Dempsey followed her movements so that they were now face to face, his hands flat on the bed either side of her hips. "Wanna tell it to the world, Princess," he said with a somewhat soppy grin._

"_Well you can't and that's that."_

"_So can I tell you how much I love you?"_

_Harry sighed and rested her hands on his cheeks. He had told her that repeatedly last night and she knew she would never get tired of hearing it._

"_Now that would be quite acceptable," she kissed the tip of his nose, " and the best thing is that it sounds even nicer when it's whispered." She levelled her lips to his ear. "I love you too," she breathed, "so very much."_

"_Kind of a shame we can't spread the good news though, huh?"_

"_It's our little secret," she appeased him._

"_Our dirty little secret?"_

_Harry was surprised to hear the seriousness in his voice when she would have expected some sort of lustful witticism. She frowned. "No. Don't be silly. You know as well as I do why we can't be seen to be in any sort of personal relationship."_

"_Yeah, yeah, I know; it don't sit well with the brass, makes us vulnerable on the street, yada, yada, yada."_

_Dempsey dropped down onto his forearms and rested his head on her breast. Harry automatically wrapped her arms around him, stroking his hair slowly. "But it ain't natural to hide away feelin's like we got, ya know."_

_She lifted her head and placed a gentle kiss in his hair. "We managed to hide them from each other for long enough," she pointed out._

"_Not the same thing."_

_Harry laughed. "I hope you're not going to sulk." She wriggled slightly under him, the weight of his body on hers building up uncomfortably._

_He wriggled right back. "Not if we carry on like this."_

_They kissed; both feeling a vivid passion stirring between them that was growing in intensity by the second._

"_We really will be late, Dempsey." Harry managed to gasp out as they came up for air._

_Dempsey glanced at the alarm clock before burying his face into her neck, inhaling her scent, licking the sensitised skin. _

"_James!" The attempt at severity didn't quite make the mark._

_"Relax, Tiger, we got twenty-five minutes left."_

_She was just about to dispute this but the fingers of his right hand had suddenly taken her breath away._

_He smiled down at her in adoration. "I moved the clock on a half hour before we decided to call it a night Thought we could maybe use the extra time productively."_

_Harry blinked slowly, a beatific smile giving her an angelic expression that Dempsey hoped belied her intentions._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Harry's mobile rang later that day, soon after Ed had arrived home. 'Tate' , flashed up on the screen.

"Hello Sam," she greeted him cheerily. "You got my email?"

She had copied him in on the finished article.

"Yes. I thought I'd ring up to congratulate you on a job well done. I think you got the ethical sourcing angle just right; I really didn't want to overplay that – detracts from the product itself in the end."

"I'm glad you're happy with it."

"So how about letting me take you out for a drink, by way of celebration?"

She had to admit that the invitation wasn't a complete surprise. He had registered his interest early on during the interview but Harry had wanted to keep it on a completely professional footing and he had obviously respected that. Now though, she had a choice. Maybe the pause had been just a little bit too long because Tate said hurriedly. "I'm sorry, I know it's _Mrs _Cavanagh but I didn't see a wedding ring and I assumed ... old fashioned of me I suppose."

"You assumed correctly, actually."

"But you don't mix business with pleasure?" he supplied, sounding suitably disappointed.

Why had her thoughts backtracked immediately to Dempsey when he'd said that? She felt strangely raw for a second. Of course, his turning up like that had unearthed a lot of memories and it had left her feeling – what? How did she feel now? Edgy? Confused? And what exactly did she have to feel confused about?

"Why ever not?" Harry put in quickly, not allowing her thoughts to go any deeper. "As long as the company is good, I don't see that it matters."

"Wonderful! Would tomorrow night be too soon for you?"

"No, that would be fine."

They settled the arrangements and Harry hung up feeling quite pleased. It would be something to tell Angela about next week; she was constantly telling Harry that she should date more, make herself more approachable to the opposite sex. But wasn't that only worthwhile when there was an attraction there in the first place? Angela also told her she was way too choosey.

Noticing Dempsey's card still on the table, Harry picked it up and deposited it in a kitchen drawer. Her head told her to throw it in the bin but that would have felt almost spiteful somehow. She had absolutely no intentions of visiting him at his bar anyway. A bar! Her shoulders rose in silent amusement. But then she supposed, with his outgoing nature and gregarious personality, it was just the sort of venture he'd have a roaring success with. Oh, how times had changed, for both of them.

She told Ed about her date with Sam Tate during dinner.

"You've still got it then, Mum," was his only comment. She didn't mention the visit from Dempsey at all. Ed was sufficiently interested in her former career in The Met. to ask some searching questions about her ex-partner and the last thing she wanted was for him to know about their love affair. Love affair! That sounded way too superficial to describe what they had shared; like the sugary frosting on a fairy cake, a black and white screen romance, a passing infatuation. It had been so very far from that. It had been a kaleidoscope of intense emotions that had completely taken over their lives, consumed them in the quiet darkness of passion and blinded them in a searing, airless void that they alone had existed in. It had been too much to control, too volatile and destructive and in the end it had had to stop. She had never loved anyone like that before or since, Harry reflected. Robert Makepeace had just been an impulsive mistake. And Phil, with whom she had shared seventeen years of her life, that had been a safe, comfortable, companionable sort of love, a warm fire compared with the nuclear explosion of the love she had experienced with Dempsey. But she had loved Phil, there was never any doubt about that. There had been other lovers during her life of course, men she had felt close enough to to invite into her bed but physical gratification was only a part of what she wanted to feel – she wanted her world to be rocked, wanted that 'edge of reason' high. But she couldn't allow herself to dwell on that; it was gone, part of her past and she wished to God the past had never come back!

* * *

On Tuesday night, she found herself in the arms of Sam Tate as they danced to the music of the live band aboard a riverboat bar. It was still only early April and quite cold but there were several outdoor heaters on deck which as well as helping to combat the nip in the air, created a warm and intimate ambience.

"I'm so glad you agreed to let me take you out," he smiled. "I'd convinced myself you'd turn me down flat."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "For such a successful man, you have a strangely low opinion of yourself."

"Not at all, just a very high opinion of you, Harry."

She lowered her eyes in silent acknowledgement of his flattery and when she looked again his eyes were on hers,

"So thank you," he said, "for being here."

His sincerity touched her and she found herself kindling that initial spark of attraction she had felt. She wasn't at all sure about the cut of his jacket though, she thought wryly.

"So how are the new lines selling?" she asked, continuing with that train of thought.

"Good, by all accounts. The flagship store reported a sell-out of three designs this morning so we're all quite excited."

"Excellent," Harry enthused. "Some of the silk prints you showed me were quite beautiful."

"Exactly what sold out! I think you have the eye."

"Anyone could see how gorgeous they are."

"Thank you. If you're interested, I could show you what we've got in the pipeline. We've just taken a couple of promising new designers on board."

The number the band was playing drew to a close and Harry took his arm as he lead them back to their table.

"A sneak preview?" Harry asked. "Sounds fun."

A waiter appeared as Sam raised his hand.

"Another bottle of this, you reckon?" he asked her, touching the neck of the near-empty wine bottle., "or do you fancy something else?"

"Same again is fine."

The waiter went away again and Sam turned his full attention back to Harry. "You could come to dinner. I could show you the new designs then."

"I could," she acquiesced.

He had nice hair; light brown with strands of silver running through the lengths that fell to well below the collar. Rather Bohemian and not a style many men his age could carry off but it quite suited him.

"Friday?" he asked.

"Friday!"

"You've got plans already?"

She hadn't, had she? No, no plans.

"Well, I've ..."

"Then you choose. Or you could call me later in the week and we could sort something out," he offered to diplomatically take the onus off Harry.

"I'm free on Thursday."

"Great. Do you like Italian?"

"Love it."

"Good. I make a mean lasagne." He sighed extravagantly. "Well to be honest, that's about the only thing I _can_ make."

* * *

"No, not Thursday, I'm busy Thursday," Tate told the woman on the other end of the 'phone. He listened while she suggested another day that might be more convenient to him, taking a sip of his scotch.

"Yes, that's fine, sweetheart. Come over Wednesday." He loosened his tie. "Whatever you want, you know that," he answered her next question. Then he laughed. "Don't you worry about that Karen, we can sort all that out when you're here. I know you wouldn't let me down, after all, we've got a good thing going, haven't we."

He ended the call and took his drink over to the window. Pulling back the floor length drape, he stood gazing out across the small courtyard and down the driveway to the electronic gates. He nodded, satisfied with what he saw. "Very nice," he said aloud, "very nice indeed."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

WARNING - 'somebody' says a very naughty word in a very rude context so if you think you might be offended, please skip this chapter.

_Fry and Watson pushed through the swing doors at the end of the corridor, deep in animated conversation about the likelihood of ever finding a witness willing to testify against Godfrey Dax. Their voices trailed away however when they got to within a few feet of the open SI10 office door and the angry raised voices emanating from it._

_Chas Jarvis was standing just outside, leaning up against the drinks machine with a plastic cup of tomato soup cradled in both his hands._

_"God, they're not having another ding-dong are they?" Fry asked. It was a rhetorical question and Chas's hangdog expression said it all anyway._

_It was Dempsey's voice that suddenly rang out:_

_"So why don't you explain to me why the hell you would put yourself out there last night, alone, without saying jack-shit to no one, including your own partner and cosy up to a freakin' psycho pimp like Kellerman?"_

_He sounded like he was on the verge of losing it big-time._

_"I wasn't 'cosying up' to him, Dempsey," Makepeace came back, clearly having to restrain herself. "I barely spoke to the man. I was in the pub, watching, listening, talking to a couple of his girls. I was never at any time in any danger."_

_She was trying to be reasonable and also trying to keep a lid on her temper._

_There was a silence for a moment during which a pained look passed between the three men loitering outside._

_Dempsey began quietly. "And would you care to tell me, Sergeant, what you were wearing last night?"_

_A pause._

_"What business is it of yours what I wear off-duty?"_

_"Betcha were dressed for work, huh, Makepeace? Only, not the kinda thing you'd be wearin' to the office."_

_Boy, he sounded mad with her._

_"Just leave it will you, Dempsey," she shrieked at him. "Forget it!" _

_"Are you kiddin' me? You went out alone, without any back-up, dressed like a whore and you tell me to forget it," he roared. "What, you couldn't ring me up? 'Hey partner, I got this idea for a little under-cover work that might be useful, think you could cover me?' But no, Miss Smarty Pants wants to go it alone and put her pretty ass on the line."_

_"No. No!" Makepeace came back, "I put nothing on the line. I was in a public ..."_

_But he wasn't about to let her finish. "You got nothin' better to do with your evenings? Is that it?"_

_"Also none of your business."_

_"I need you to know that I am not happy with this situation, Sergeant. You're my partner and I have a responsibility toward you. When you don't tell me what you're gettin' up to, how can I be expected to protect you?"_

_"I don't need protection," she spat, "or your supervision. I know how to do my job."_

_"Let me ask you this: are you familiar with the phrase, 'there's no 'I' in Team?" Dempsey shouted._

_"Oh but there's certainly a 'U' in Pain in the Arse."_

_Outside, Watson grinned. "Nice one."_

_Fry winced. "That's definitely a point to the Sergeant."_

_Chas grimaced and said nothing._

_The door suddenly flew open and slammed into the wall before bouncing back onto Makepeaces' extended hand._

_"Don't walk away from me, Sergeant," Dempsey yelled from the rear. "I ain't done with you yet."_

_"Wanna bet?" she fumed._

_Makepeace stormed past her three colleagues, totally oblivious to their presence. Her face was flushed and she was scowling. "Stupid little man," she hissed under her breath._

_"What?" asked Dempsey, incredulously. "What did you just call me?"_

_Watson, Fry and Jarvis quietly slipped back into the office and Fry made sure he shut the door firmly behind them._

_Makepeace rounded on him. "I called you a stupid little man."_

_"Hey, stupid I can live with but I ain't happy with the 'little' implication here."_

_Nostrils still flaring, Makepeace smirked triumphantly. "Good," she said in a high, clipped voice._

_They were starting to come down – they had peaked._

_Dempsey grabbed her roughly by the upper arms and backed her up against the wall. He looked down at her, his intense gaze at once unnerving and seductive. And then his eyes fell to her lips._

_Harry was breathing hard. Her hands were pressed flat to the wall behind her but trembling all the same and Dempsey could feel the reverberations running up though her arms. It excited him. Those lips were opened up to him, a whole dark, magical world within, just waiting to be explored. Reluctantly, he travelled back up to her glacial blue eyes, glittering challengingly at him,_

_"What am I gonna do with you, Sergeant?" he croaked._

_She swallowed, her head swimming in a warm, viscous desire and she bit the soft inside of her cheek._

_"Well," she began in a tone as casually conversational as she could muster under the circumstances; (but still she had to steel herself to get out the words she so wanted to tell him), "I was rather hoping you were going to f**k me ... Lieutenant."_

_The look on Dempsey's face was everything she could have possibly hoped for and more. Eyes wide and startled, his grip on her slackened and he actually took a step back. She regarded him with a carefully constructed expression of benign indifference, watching his head lower, a thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth in an unconscious effort to hide the grin that was forming._

_"Hell, I love that British reserve."_

_He made a sudden grab for her, pushing her hard to the wall with his body, hands running over every curve, his mouth attacking the exposed flesh of her throat in blind desire. "And here was me thinkin' you was a lady."_

_"Not here," she choked out, half laughing, her eyes flitting up and down the corridor._

_He tore himself off her and without a word, pushed her in front of him, his left hand capturing her forearm, his right on her back, propelling her along, all but frog-marching her along the corridor._

_"Where are we going?" she murmured, not really caring just so long as they went 'somewhere'._

_"Down. We're goin' down, sweetheart," he said as he hustled her along._

_Feeling Makepeace suddenly pull away, he looked up and followed her line of sight to the window in the swing door he was just about to yank them through. They stood back as Spikings emerged, returned from a rather unsatisfactory canteen lunch._

_"And where are you two off to?" he enquired tartly, eyeing them with what he knew to be justified suspicion._

_"Got a real hot tip, boss." Dempsey held the door braced for a quick getaway. "Real hot."_

_"And then lunch, Sir," Makepeace added quickly to add on some extra time._

_Spikings noted the Lieutenants hand clenched around Makepeaces arm, the fabric of the blouse twisted and puckered. "Anything I should know about?"_

_"We'll keep you informed, Sir," she told him serenely, extricating herself from Dempsey when she realised where Spikings was looking._

_"You make sure you do that, Sergeant." He stepped aside then and Harry walked briskly through the open door, closely followed by a grinning Dempsey._

_They heard the door bang shut and Dempsey glanced back to check Spikings was actually out of view._

_"Right," he told her softly._

_"What?"_

_"Go right." He was guiding her again, pulling her in the opposite direction to what she had expected, down along the corridor that filtered around the security department and then right again towards maintenance._

_"Where are we going?" she hissed, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. None of this section was at all familiar to her, never having had a reason to be on this side of the building before._

_"I told you, we're goin' down."_

_They had reached a dead end. Presented with a tall, narrow window before her, Makepeace was nonplussed until she turned to confront Dempsey and saw the grey metal doors of an old service lift grinding open behind him._

_"Not in there!" she remonstrated, feeling quite aghast at the idea._

_"Not quite."_

_He dragged her inside the dark and dingy metal box and stabbed at the lowest button in the row of six. "There was a loud and ominous 'clunk' followed by a judder as the mechanics were forced into operation. Dempsey had been holding his breath but when the lift started to move, accompanied by a high pitched whirring sound, he let it out and turned to wrap his arms around his partner._

_"Dempsey! What are you up to?" She looked about her disdainfully; at the indefinable detritus that littered the lift floor, the rust and scratched paintwork on the walls, the generally unpleasant smell of oil, grease and dirt._

_"It ain't so bad." He leant down and kissed her forehead, his arms draped over her shoulders._

_"Yes it is - it's horrid, Dempsey," she complained._

_The lift shuddered to a halt, bouncing a couple of times before finally stopping dead and the doors opened again. They peered out into near darkness, the only illumination, the yellowish light spilling out of the lift itself._

_"Where are we?" Harry asked curious now, trying to make out the dark shapes and shadows beyond._

_"Hold the doors, Harry," he requested, pulling her back in to take over the button he was keeping depressed. "It's the basement," he told her and stepped out over the threshold. He felt around on the outside wall for a light switch. "This is where Stanley does his spares and repairs, all the old junk is kept down here in storage." He had found a whole panel of switches and suddenly a series of popping flashes began to light up the room as one after another, fluorescent tubes came to life._

_"Who's Stanley and what are you talking about?" she asked, following him out._

_"What, you don't know who Stanley is? Stanley is the eyes and ears o' this whole building. Ain't nothin' goes on here that ol' Stanley don't know about."_

_"So Stanley is ...?" Harry surveyed the vast area before her, a room easily three times the size of the SI10 offices somewhere above them._

_"The janitor. You never met him? Short, kinda ratty lookin', greasy little ponytail, breath like horseshit, great guy."_

_"You're having me on, aren't you?" Harry asked distractedly, still assessing her surroundings._

_"Yeah, he ain't that great," Dempsey conceded._

_The whole area had been filled with old, disused or broken items of furniture, the varying styles of which appeared to span several decades. Pathways had been cleared for access which lent a labyrinthian feel to the place. Dumped seemingly at random, a haphazard row of narrow tables, stacked legs up on top of each other ran several feet down one side. A group of dark green 1940's four drawer filing cabinets stood sentinel in the middle of the room like tired old darleks. Three wooden cupboards and two tambour-door units, in varying states of disrepair were banked up against each other. An array of chairs were clustered at various points; plastic stacking chairs with broken legs, typists chairs missing castors, high backed managers chairs sporting scuffed and ripped leather seats, others with the upholstery hanging in shreds._

_"So your friend Stanley has shown you around this place, has he?" Harry ran a finger across the surface of a low cupboard and examined the resulting residue with a sigh before moving off._

_"Came down a few months ago when the back fell off of my chair."_

_Harry had wandered out of sight but the disapproval in her voice could still be heard clearly enough. "Mmm. That probably had something to do with you treating it like a go-cart."_

_Dempsey wended his way through the furniture junkyard to find her sitting atop a sturdy double pedestal oak desk, hemmed in by a row of ancient, narrow metal lockers. A frown marred her face._

_"And this was your idea of a romantic refuge, was it?" She sat back, hands splayed on the desktop._

_But her sudden look of wry amusement gave Dempsey hope that all was not lost. "I didn't think it was 'romance', per se, that you had in mind."_

_Harry cocked her head on one side. "Maybe not 'per se'," she agreed, eyeing his body up and down._

_He didn't respond but waited for her to continue._

_"But this," she gestured about them with her left hand, "it's a bit, well ..." she wrinkled her nose, "seedy."_

_Dempsey thrust his hands into the pockets of his corduroy jacket. "All I could come up with at short notice." He shrugged. "Sorry."_

_"Don't be." And then she crooked her index finger at him. "Seedy can be quite fun, don't you think?"_

_He was in front of her in moments, chuckling throatily as her arms snaked up about him and her ankles crossed behind his knees._

_"So why don't you remind me what it was I was going to do with you, Dirty Harry?"_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

It took several seconds for the insistent trill of the telephone to penetrate Harry's consciousness. She rolled towards it, bleary eyed, noting the time was only 6:55am. No one phoned at this time unless something was wrong and consequently her heart yo-yo'd down into the bottom of her stomach as she snatched up the receiver.

"Hello?" she asked anxiously.

"Darling! Darling, I know it's early and I'm so sorry for waking you but I just had to tell you the news!"

"Oh, Angela," said Harry with relief.

"I know it's totally uncivilized to call at this time of the morning but, …"

"Is it the baby?" Harry guessed delightedly.

Angela laughed. "A girl! Born at 5:37am and weighing in at 8lb 2oz. Mother and child doing fine but poor Leo sounded decidedly overwrought when I spoke to him."

"Ahh. Presumably Carly was in labour all night; I don't suppose Leo would've got much sleep either."

"I know. He was quite emotional, poor lamb."

"So does the baby have a name yet?"

"Lula," Angela told her doubtfully. "But I suppose it could've been worse."

"Oh yes, what was it they'd been winding you up with? Enid, wasn't it?" laughed Harry.

They chatted for a while about the baby and which title of 'grandmotherhood' Angela should employ to sound the least ageing. When the conversation moved on from babysitting duties to their night out, planned for the following week, Harry mentioned her two dates with Sam Tate. Angela admonished her for not bringing it up sooner.

"Two dates and you're only telling me now! My God, Harry, you need to tell me everything. You'll be getting your bikini-line waxed for the next date and I'll have missed out on all the preliminaries."

"I certainly won't be getting a bikini-wax for the next date," Harry protested.

"And why ever not? Have some fun, Harry. You're certainly over the age of consent, you're gorgeous and you're single so go for it! I would if it wasn't for the fact that I'm a respectable grandmother now."

"And a married woman."

"And that."

They laughed together and then Angela spent the next quarter of an hour milking every last detail of the two dates out of her.

"And are you out again tonight?" she probed eventually.

"I …" Harry hesitated, debating whether or not to tell Angela everything that had happened of late, "could be."

Angela was actually quiet for a moment whilst she contemplated what that might mean. "Well? Is he taking you out again tonight or not?"

Harry pulled her knees up under the quilt and rested her chin on them, running her fingers repeatedly through the lengths of her hair. "Actually, I was invited to a bar owned by somebody we both used to know." Harry held her breath, knowing there was no taking the statement back now.

"Really?" Angela was intrigued. "Who?"

She jumped straight in, not giving herself time to think about it. "You remember Lieutenant James Dempsey of the New York Police Department?" she asked, giving his full title for dramatic effect.

Angela gasped. "No! Now you tell me you are joking!"

Harry found herself laughing nervously, hugging her knees tighter. "He's been back living in London for the last six months apparently."

"And he's got a bar?" Angela asked incredulously.

"Dempsey's Bar in Kingston."

"Aitch, I just can't believe we've been talking for the last forty-five minutes and you only now decide to give me the hottest news of the decade!"

Harry had to admit it was a relief to be talking to someone about him. She had spent a lot of energy over the last few days fending off all thoughts of Dempsey but now it felt good to be able to purge those thoughts, maybe get him out of her system again.

"He just called round to say 'hello', that's all."

"Harry, there's no 'that's all' about it!" How did he know how to find you? What did he say? What did he look like?"

Her questions went on and on, expecting all manner of information that Harry had deemed too personal to enquire about. When Harry had said, "I have no idea" for the third or fourth time in quick succession, Angela asked, "So are you going to find out?"

"But why would I want to?"

"Curiosity?"

"I'm not curious though."

"Liar. I am, so I know you are."

"And you really think it would be a good idea, do you? It's called courting disaster, Angela."

"I don't see what harm it would do, I mean, it isn't like you'd be going out with him, he'd be at work running this bar of his and you'd just be visiting a public place for a couple of drinks."

"I don't get it! Why are you so keen for me to go?" Harry asked, frustrated that her friend wasn't feeling her own reservations.

"Why not? Angela seemed genuinely surprised by Harry's attitude. "What does it matter after this length of time?" It isn't as if you've got any feelings for him, he's just a guy you had a fling with once upon a time."

Harry frowned, clutching the phone harder. "If you want to put it into _really_ simple terms, I suppose."

"Well it's true. It doesn't have to be a big deal. Go to Kingston, find out that he wears a wig, had a hernia operation last year and has to take Viagra. It'll do you the world of good, Aitch."

At least that brought a smile to Harry's lips before she said, "You know as well as I do why I shouldn't see him again; it isn't worth it."

"But surely you can't deny you're curious?" Angela took a dramatic intake of breath. "I tell you what, I'll go instead, I'm sure James wouldn't mind. I'll get all the juicy details that you, for some reason, couldn't bring yourself to ask and then I can give you the low-down tomorrow."

Harry laughed. "You're so funny, Angela," she said mockingly. She gazed across to the bedroom window, at the chink of light cutting a line between the drawn curtains and felt herself grappling with indecision. "He said I should bring Ed and Jay with me," she added.

"There you go then," said Angela, brightly. "That just shows you he only intends it to be a 'for old times' sake' get together."

Harry tutted. "Well I wasn't thinking it was going to be anything else!"

"So go! Obviously not with the kids though. You've already broken the ice and you'd hardly be able to talk properly with them there anyway. You never know, you might even have fun," she prompted. "Or have you got all the fun you can handle with the lovely Sam Tate at the moment?"

"He's really nice!" Harry protested at the hint of cynicism in Angela's tone.

"_Nice _doesn't cut the mustard, darling, as you well know."

"And he's a very snappy dresser," Harry joked.

"For 'snappy dresser', also see 'poseur'."

"No, he's not like that at all," she defended.

"I'm only picking up on the vibes I've been getting down the 'phone line."

"Maybe there's a faulty on the line than Angela. Really, he's a nice chap."

"There's that word again," Angela sing-songed.

"Stop it!" Harry choked, as always, tickled by her friends' sense of humour.

"Well, let me put it this way, darling, James Dempsey was not a man who I would have described as 'nice' but he certainly mashed your potatoes."

"He could be nice, actually."

"You see!" Angela came back, jubilantly, "the best of both worlds. Go and have some fun tonight. You know you want to."

Harry was completely torn now. On the one hand she had convinced herself that the past should be left well alone and on the other, her very best friend with thirty-two years access to Harry's psyche was now telling her to go digging up the relics of her life. It really wasn't fair.

"Angela, it's not even eight o'clock in the morning and you've got me feeling like I should be reaching for the Pinot Grigio."

"Oh, come on, what 's the big deal? What's the worst that could happen? You'll enjoy yourself? However would you live with yourself, Aitch?"

"I sometimes think you're a bad influence on me."

"I'm the voice of reason," she laughed, "and besides, I'm desperate for some gossip."

"Well I'd rather you didn't use me as your fodder."

"Spoilsport!"

"Anyway," Harry drawled, "shouldn't you be making a move? I thought you wanted to get to the hospital early."

"It's you who are holding me up. I couldn't possibly go anywhere until I've got an answer out of you. So are you going or not?"

"No, I'm not," said Harry without hesitation. "The whole idea is …" she searched for a suitable word, "well, it's preposterous. I have no intention of disrupting my nice, quiet, stable life for the sake of bloody James Dempsey."

"Harry!" Angela sounded exasperated. "it's one bloody evening at a bar in Kingston Upon Thames. How exactly is that going to irrevocably alter your life?"

"I don't know, Angela, darling," said Harry with a spurious impatience, "but I'm not about to find out."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"_Many happy returns, Harry," Chas offered her his congratulations as he strode past her desk. "Twenty-one again is it?"_

_Makepeace dropped her handbag on the floor and toed it under her desk. "It's not my ..." she noticed the small yellow box tied up with silver ribbon next to the telephone, "birthday," she finished._

_Chas grinned. "Well someone thinks it is by the looks of it."_

"_Someone's got it wrong."_

_Harry removed her jacket and hung it over the back of her chair before reaching for a fat document wallet and riffling through the contents._

"_Aren't you going to open it then?" asked Watson, craning his neck to get a better view of the package._

"_Nope."_

_Fry wolf whistled. "From a secret admirer, is it?"_

"_Nope."_

"_Do you know who it's from then?" Fry persisted._

"_I think I have a fair idea, yes." She swung her chair around and eyed Dempsey who had been sitting quietly behind his own desk. Her cool, imperturbable look was unwavering and eventually, he felt compelled to raise his head and meet her eyes. "It's from Dempsey," she said loudly._

_A smile flickered briefly across his mouth. He picked up his 'phone to make a call out._

"_What you buying Harry presents for, Jim?" Watson asked._

"_And where's mine?" piped up Martin from the back of the room._

_Dempsey spoke into the receiver. "Good morning. I'm lookin' to speak to a Mrs Josephine McDonald. Is she there, please?"_

_Harry grabbed up the gift box and bending under the desk, quickly stashed it away in her handbag. "Don't get excited, it's just the Lieutenant's idea of a joke."_

"_Why, what is it?" Fry wanted to know._

"_I just told you, Fry, a joke, and not a very funny one I can assure you so shall we get on?"_

_Harry stood up and walked to the coffee machine, refusing to acknowledge Dempsey now._

_Whilst he was waiting for his contact to take his call, he covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "You never know, you might like it."_

"_Bob!" Makepeace called across the room. "Has that Lewendon case file turned up yet?"_

"_No sign," Bob replied._

_Dempsey put his feet up on the desk and slid a cigar out of his shirt pocket. "Maybe later then, Sergeant."_

"_Get somebody onto it would you? I could really do with having that file this morning."_

"_No problem."_

_Harry sat back down with her coffee._

"_Not for me, thanks, I already got one," Dempsey drawled. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was Harry blanking him like that. And she knew it._

_Josephine McDonald finally took his call and he was forced to enter into a conversation._

* * *

_By 10:30am, the only words to have passed between then had been a few, brief case related discussions. Makepeace was clearly still on a low simmer and not about to give and inch any time soon._

"_So we goin' to go give this Paul Costa the shakedown?" he asked, eventually._

_There was a crackling silence until Makepeace finally said, "Why don't you go by yourself? You don't really need me there, getting in your way."_

"_I don't?"_

"_And I can't imagine that any input from me would make a blind bit of difference anyway."_

"_Hey, c'mmon Makepeace, we don't want this guy left feelin' out in the cold when my partner doesn't show up. Think he's got a soft spot for you."_

"_Costa needs to understand that when you go breaking the rules, you can't have everything your own way."_

_Dempsey nodded, getting up and ramming his chair back home under the desk. "Okay, fine. That's fine," he growled. "I'll see you later."_

_But she had already moved on and was smiling at some quip Watson had just made._

"_Fine," he said again and stalked out._

'_Seeing' her later was about all he managed. When he returned from the Paul Costa rendezvous, she had gone to lunch and afterwards, spent most of the afternoon down in Records. She left for the day at the earliest opportunity and there was definitely no invitation in the look she gave him as she flounced out._

_Well, if she thought he was gonna go crawling after her sweet ass, she had another thing coming. He knew who was in the wrong here and it certainly wasn't him. Layin' down the law, givin' him boundaries. Harriet Hitler could go stick her boundaries where the sun don't shine!_

* * *

_One hundred and thirty seven, one hundred and thirty eight, one hundred and thirty nine ... Harry let the box fall from her fingers and drop to the table for the one hundred and fortieth time. It landed with a staccato 'bang' and she picked it up again. She didn't care what was inside it, it was the thought that counted, and he just hadn't thought, or rather he had, which was the whole point._

'_Bang!' One hundred and forty one. What the hell had been going through his mind? She couldn't even blame blind stupidity, that didn't even enter into it._

_There came a gentle knocking sound from out in the open hallway, followed by the click of the letterbox being lifted. Harry tensed and listened as the soft metallic creaking of the letterbox continued. After a few seconds there was another brief rap on the door over the creaking. Harry jumped up and peered suspiciously around the kitchen door. Her initial thought had been that it was Dempsey but the continued movement of the letterbox was vaguely worrying. There was something white hanging over the letterbox cage, a piece of fabric, swaying limply. Harry approached slowly. More knocking, more waving of the white flag. She muttered an oath under her breath and marched to the front door. _

_She wrenched it open, yelling, "What?"_

_Dempsey yelled back – or was it more of a scream?_

_Harry was confronted with her partner standing doubled up on her doorstep, his right hand clutched in his left and held braced against his chest. He looked up at her, his face red and contorted with pain._

"_Even a guard dog woulda given me a head start!" he cried in a strangled voice._

_Harry was stunned for a moment until the sight of the bright red blood seeping down the front of Dempsey's beige jumper galvanised her._

"_You shouldn't have been poking your fingers through my letterbox in the first place!"_

"_Guess you're expectin' some kind of obscene comeback but I'm too busy tryin' to decide whether I wanna throw up or pass out."_

_Harry reached out to drag him in off her doorstep. He was obviously in agony._

"_Let me see."_

_Dempsey allowed her to prise his hands away from his chest and she was able to see the heavy lacerations running across the backs of his fingers, wounds caused by the badly finished inner metal lip of the letterbox. Blood was flowing freely down to his wrist and soaking into his cuff._

"_God, you're an idiot," she cried, holding his hand up between them and wincing at the mess._

"_Yeah, I know that now. Just that most people don't have a letterbox that bites." He sounded breathless, trying to get past the pain._

_Harry brought his hand to her mouth, held in her own and to his surprise, she began to lick the wounds, her tongue sliding firm and warm through the slick, wet blood running over his fingers. He watched, fascinated, the pain reseeding. Her lips began to suck on his knuckles and he could feel her tongue, pressing now against the broken flesh, staunching the flow of blood. His whole hand was throbbing and tingling but the hammering beat of his heart was starting to slow as he continued to watch Harry. He brought his left hand up to tease away a strand of her hair, caught between her thumb and the back of his hand. He smiled, feeling a surge of love so great that he wanted to cry out._

_Abruptly she took her mouth away to examine the wound and his hand felt cold and exposed without it._

"_It's quite deep," she murmured, both of her hands carefully holding his aloft so they could see together._

"_I'll live," he said softly._

_The blood was still running over his fingers, spilling down his wrist again, too much for Harry to keep licking away._

"_Don't move," she said, "I don't want you dripping on my carpet." She ran to the kitchen to get a tea-towel to wrap around it._

"_So your family tree includes Counts and Countesses, not just Lords and Ladies."_

_Harry frowned for a second before she realised what he meant. "I didn't know what else to do," she smiled, looking a little guilty, "it was just instinctive."_

"_Oooh, scary!"_

"_Come on," she touched a hand to the back of his shoulder, "I'll clean it up properly."_

_Dempsey followed her upstairs into the bathroom and stood patiently whilst her bathed and dressed his hand with a crepe bandage._

"_And what was all this in aid of?" she asked, still focusing her attention on tying the bandage off around his wrist._

"_I guess I came to apologise."_

"_By wafting a handkerchief through my letterbox?"_

"_It was clean," he pointed out, "and besides it wasn't a handkerchief, it was a white flag, well, a bloody flag now probably which is kinda symbolic seeing as I came to make peace, not war."_

_Harry frowned, not too sure how he had intended that 'make peace' comment to be interpreted but she didn't follow it up._

"_Take off your sweater and I'll rinse the blood out before it has a chance to stain."_

_He quietly did as she asked._

"_Harry?"_

"_Mmm hm?" The cold water she ran into the bath turned pink as she began scrubbing at the sleeve._

"_I'm sorry."_

"_For what?"_

_He had to smile. She wanted the full-blown grovelling apology._

"_I'm sorry for spending a helluva lot of money on a beautiful gift for you and for taking the time and having the artistic ability to wrap it myself without any help from the guy in the store whose opinion I didn't even ask for by the way."_

"_Did it go through to your shirt?" Harry asked without turning around._

"_A bit," he replied, looking down at his shirtfront._

_She sighed. "Okay. Throw it in. I'll have to make up a load for the wash."_

_Dempsey unbuttoned his shirt and handed it over._

"_So did you open it?"_

"_No," she said airily._

_The splashing water filled the silence._

"_I get frustrated ..."_

_The splashing became a gentle lapping._

"_This whole sneaking around thing is losing its' appeal, in fact, it drives me crazy sometimes."_

_Harry pulled the bath plug and stood up straight, watching the pink, soapy water gurgle away down the drain._

"_I was gonna give you the gift tonight but ... I don't know, something just came over me. Leavin' it on your desk was sort of an act of defiance. I knew you'd never open it in the office; I knew you'd get mad but I did it anyway."_

_Harry sat down wearily on the edge of the tub. "We agreed, James."_

_He scrubbed his hands through his hair, wincing a little when he flexed the fingers of his bandaged hand. "I know that. But it ain't easy. I keep havin' to think about what I'm gonna say before I can talk to you; think about how I look at you."_

_He gave her a rueful look. "Yesterday I had to stop myself from slappin' your ass when you walked by my desk."_

"_I know it's difficult."_

"_Do you?" He looked down at her unhappily. "I don't see you havin' a problem with it."_

_Harry reached for the clothing she'd wrung out, snatching it up angrily. "Of course I do. Maybe I just deal with it better than you."_

_She walked out then and Dempsey heard her storming downstairs, crossing the kitchen floor, opening the utility room door._

"_Damn," he whispered._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**In her bedroom on Friday night, Harry stripped off her dress and put it on the hanger. She'd only worn it on one other occasion and whilst it fitted her beautifully and she knew it looked good on her, it just wasn't right to wear this evening. **

**Something casual but elegant she told herself, it's only a couple of drinks in a bar. It doesn't even matter what I wear!**

**She reached for a pair of black skinny fit jeans and a stretchy black long sleeved top. A nice belt, her black knee high boots with the low spiked heels and her soft, pearl grey waterfall cardigan over the top. And jewellery. Keep it simple. She chose a chunky silver necklace and earring set and then added the matching bracelet as an afterthought. Nervously, she tucked her hair behind her ear as she surveyed the finished result in the cheval mirror. Yes, that was probably acceptable; nothing provocative, just casual, elegant and hopefully confident – the one thing she felt decidedly lacking in at the moment. She still wasn't exactly sure why she was even going tonight; why was she putting herself through this charade? Did she think she had to prove something, that her life was perfect, had worked out like some sort of fairytale without him?**

**She picked up her evening bag; a ridiculously glamorous affair that dear, unrestrained Angela had talked her into buying a few months ago.**

**She still hadn't mentioned Dempsey to Ed; she'd just let him assume she was going out with Sam again tonight and seeing as Ed himself was already out, there were no questions to answer.**

**It was a quarter to eight now; Dempsey had suggested eight o'clock if she could make it. Well, she'd arrive at around eight fifteen which was certainly better than the vague **_**maybe **_**that was all he'd been able to pin her down to on Monday.**

**She checked her reflection again in the mirror and tried out her 'pleasant' smile on herself. She had always been very good at presenting a cool, calm exterior to the outside world but had yet to master the turmoil raging inside.**

* * *

"**That her?"**

**James Dempsey's face melted into an impossibly wide grin. "Yeah, that's Harry."**

**Jill, one of the waitresses was speaking to her, having been briefed to keep an eye open and make sure she was seated correctly. Dempsey watched as Harry was guided to the reserved table at the front, over to the left of the open dance floor come stage area.**

"**Pretty lady," said Julius Bell, grudgingly.**

"**Yeah, that's Harry." Dempsey's grin had yet to falter.**

"**Hey!" The tall, muscular black man waved his hand in front of Dempsey's face. "You still with me?" His accent, like Dempsey's was pure New York..**

**Dempsey tore his gaze away from Harry and refocused on the other man.**

"**What? Yeah."**

"**You only got ten minutes, Dempsey."**

"**No problem. I'll just go and say 'hi' and I'll be right back, okay?"**

**Julius regarded him stonily. "You got somethin' on your upper lip there."**

**Dempsey automatically wiped his hand across his mouth. "What?"**

"**Sweat!" He shook his head with disdain and walked away.**

**Laughing to himself, Dempsey made his way over to Harry, speaking a few words to some regulars as he wended past their tables. He arrived just as Jill was pouring out a glass of Champagne from the bottle that had been chilling in the ice bucket.**

"**Thanks, Jill," he said, touching her shoulder to indicate that he could take it from here.**

"**Sure." She replaced the bottle and smiled brightly at Harry as she prepared to leave. "Enjoy your evening, Mrs Cavanagh."**

"**Thank you," Harry said, watching the young American girl walk away in the direction of the bar, attempting to delay meeting Dempsey's eyes.**

"**I was hoping you'd make it."**

**He stood behind her, one hand on the back of her chair, the other resting on the edge of the table and he bent slightly to place a chaste kiss on her cheek. "So how're you doing?"**

"**I'm fine, thank you." She couldn't not look at him any longer. His soft, brown eyes met hers and she felt the warmth radiating from them. "The bar's lovely. Not what I'd expected."**

**He took the chair next to her, taking a slim, six inch long box from the back pocket of his trousers before he sat down and then slid it beside the 'Reserved' table sign that bore the name of 'Cavanagh'.**

"**You thought it was gonna be all red leatherette booths and Wurlitzer juke boxes?"**

**Harry smiled. "Maybe not quite that bad." She looked around approvingly. "But this is lovely. Much bigger than I'd thought it would be"**

**It was traditionally styled using reclaimed wood for the flooring and bar areas. The tables and chairs were also traditionally designed, solidly built and attractive but it seemed to be the arrangement and lighting that gave the bar its delightful atmosphere. Brass fittings reflected a warm rosy glow everywhere and the navy and terracotta walls, adorned with abstract prints of musical instruments, added depth. Harry noticed that small, cosy two-seater sofas had been placed along the walls on three sides for those not wishing to be seated at a table. The place felt comfortable and consequently the patrons seemed relaxed and at home here. The background music was just that – in the background. It was possibly Ella Fitzgerald but so low that Harry couldn't be sure over the hum of conversation.**

"**Busy, too," she noted.**

"**Just the way I like it."**

**Harry was now watching equipment being checked over on the stage area; a semi-circular dais about twenty feet away from them.**

"**There's a band playing tonight?" she asked.**

**Dempsey eased the flat of his right hand along the surface of the table. "Yeah, we have live music most nights; it's a big draw."**

"**And who's playing tonight?" She saw the big black guy, plugging in an amp, glance their way.**

"**Oh, Fridays is always the resident band. We get guest artists on short-term contracts. We rotate them so's there's always somethin' different on at least three nights a week"**

**Harry inclined her head and smiled, genuinely impressed. "I hadn't realised this was such a serious venture. I'd thought ... well, anyone can open a bar, can't they."**

"**You'd thought I was just playin' at it?"**

"**I suppose."**

"**Well, I guess in a way, I am. It's kind of a hobby outlet for me."**

**Taking a sip of her Champagne, she nodded towards a table of loud and animated forty-something women with amusement. "So I see."**

**Dempsey laughed softly. "Nah. These days, that's not a hobby, it's a perk." And then on a change of tack, he said, "So you couldn't persuade your kids to come along tonight?"**

"**They had their own plans."**

**Looking slightly embarrassed, he told her, "It's just that I have to spend some time front of house tonight and I feel sort of bad leaving you on your own."**

"**Dempsey, you own a bar; I wasn't expecting you to drop everything and give me your undivided attention for the whole evening."**

**She was secretly rather relieved that she would be allowed some time to herself; respite from the potentially nerve-racking conversations she had foreseen, time to gather her wits and smooth over her anxieties. Bloody Angela, talking her into this!**

**Just then, Jill appeared at the edge of the table bearing a double-sided ceramic dish of olives and pistachios that she placed in the centre. **

**She leaned into Dempsey and whispered, "Julius says, 'time's up'," before hurrying away again.**

"**Looks like I'm on my way."**

**Harry noticed the ragged edge to his voice and was pleased she wasn't alone with her nerves.**

**He stood. "Anythin' you need, just ask anyone on the floor; they know you're my guest. We got some pretty great gourmet hotdogs," he offered with a wink.**

"**Gourmet! Does that mean they might actually contain meat?"**

"**Think it's just somethin' to do with the fancy seeds on the rolls."**

**He made to walk away but suddenly swung back. "Oh yeah, I forgot." He picked up the long black box he'd put on the table earlier and handed it to Harry. "You'll be needing this."**

**She took it off him, her bafflement bringing a smile to his lips. "It was somethin' you said before I left on Monday," he added cryptically and took his leave.**

**Harry couldn't even begin to guess what it was; his clues had meant absolutely nothing so with a keen curiosity, she slid the box open. It was a spoon! A small silver spoon nestling in a moulded velvet covered casing. There was an inscription running along the handle that she was struggling to read in this subdued lighting without her glasses. She held it away from her and read: **_**'Here's To Stirring Things Up'**_**. Harry felt the colour rising in her cheeks and brought her hand to her mouth to stifle her small laugh as she recalled telling him on Monday afternoon that there was no point in stirring things up.**

**Leaning forward, she popped the spoon into the neck of the bottle of Champagne. **


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_In the spare room that Harry used as a dressing room, he pulled open the second drawer down in the big Victorian pine chest and took his navy blue sweatshirt off the top of the pile. He inhaled the fragrance of the fabric softener Harry used as he shrugged into it – he liked that, kind of a feminine touch. He rarely used it in his own laundry, always seemed to have run out._

_When he got downstairs she was making a pot of tea. She had her back to him but he could tell by her stilted movements that she was upset._

_He sat down at the table, in the chair Harry had vacated earlier. His eye fell upon the yellow gift box sitting on top of this mornings' newspaper. A porcelain vase of simple early daffodils stood in the centre of the table and he noticed that the shade matched exactly that of the box. He picked it up, placed it before him and idly scooted it around in a six inch circumference of space._

"_Can't help how I feel, princess."_

_The tension in the room was almost unbearable. There was a sharp metallic crack as a teaspoon hit the countertop with considerable force and Harry swung round to face him._

"_And you think I don't 'feel'. Is that it?"_

_To his dismay, he saw that tears were coursing down her flushed cheeks._

"_Am I such a cold fish, James?"_

_A dark pang of guilt passed like a shadow across him. "C'mmon. Don't go gettin' upset like this." He went to her, tried to take her in his arms but she shoved him away._

"_So because I'm playing by the rules, because I can keep work and 'us' separate, that means it doesn't bother me?" she cried angrily, running a forefinger under each eye to dash the tears away._

"_I never said that. What I'm sayin' is that you ..." he searched around for a word that would soften the sentiment but found himself struggling. "Look, you said it yourself, you cope with the situation," and added, "better than I do."_

_He raised his eyebrows, his head tilted, trying to get her to look him in the face. He hadn't expected her to be like this. He had come here tonight with so much to say, so many other grievances he'd wanted to get out into the open but now he couldn't because anything more would just result in a screaming match. He didn't want to hurt her any more than he apparently already had. _

_Harry closed her eyes, fists clenched. "I was so angry with you at the office this morning," she said in a low, controlled voice. Her hands went to her cheeks and she bent her head forward, releasing a small, frustrated growl. She straightened then and at last faced him. "I can't understand why you had to do it. Why was it so important to you to make such an exhibition out of giving me a present?"_

"_Because 'you're' so important to me, Harry!"_

_He took a step towards her but she turned and busied herself with pouring milk into two mugs._

"_Yes. I'm so important that you'd jeopardize our relationship for the sake of some –" she waved towards the table bearing the offending article, " some trinket!"_

"_I already told you I'm sorry. I don't wanna fight with you over something this dumb. Please Harry, huh? He held his arms out to her. "I'm in love with you! Can you blame me for wanting everyone to know?"_

_She appeared so vulnerable and small, looking up at him like that, her eyes still wet with tears. She moved into the circle of his embrace and he held her to him thankfully._

"_Oh, Harry," he sighed, cupping the back of her head with his splayed fingers. He felt her weight lean against him, taut and unyielding and he began to stroke his fingers gently through her silky blonde hair, the way he knew relaxed her, de-stressed her, digging into her scalp with each upward movement._

"_Don't ruin it," she told him quietly. "We're together, that should be all that matters."_

_Dempsey nodded his agreement, his chin bumping the crown of her head. "It is, honey, yeah, it is."_

_He closed his eyes for a moment, just luxuriating in the feel of her, the mingled scents of her hair and perfume, his sweatshirt, everything warmed and exaggerated by the closeness of their bodies. He'd been stupid, so stupid to risk losing this. Whatever way she wanted to play it, that was the way it had to be._

_They remained locked together for a while until eventually, Harry raised her head to touch her nose to his. "Shall we take that tea into the sitting room?"_

"'_kay," he smiled._

_Dempsey lifted up the tray and Harry quickly threw some of his favourite chocolate digestives onto a plate, depositing it beside the teapot. As he carried it through the hallway, Harry leaned around him and dropped the yellow box onto it too. He turned and flashed her a grin but said nothing._

"_You think I went over the top, don't you?" she asked carefully as he poured their tea._

"_I provoked you," he answered, diplomatically," and I regret that."_

"_We shouldn't regret anything. Whatever we do, we shouldn't regret any of it."_

_He frowned a little. "Isn't that the kind of thing you say when you know there ain't much time left? You plannin' on bailin' on me, Harry?"_

_Bringing her legs up under her, she curled into his chest and hooked her hand over his shoulder, clinging on to him. "I don't think I could. We're partners, body and soul. Forever."_

_He felt a strength move through him at those words. "Amen," he finished._

_It'd all come good in the end, he knew. Things moved on didn't they, natural progression. They would find a way around their situation so's it was acceptable to everyone and if that meant one of them switching to a different department ... But he couldn't envisage that somehow. Wasn't that the point? They were good together, they complimented each other, why should being partners out of work mean they couldn't be partners in work and visa versa? It was crazy. But then he remembered a few weeks back when Harry had gone undercover one night on her own, seeking out information on a notorious pimp, Andy Kellerman. He remembered how that had made him feel; angry, protective, scared. He couldn't afford to be scared for his partner; it just didn't work that way. No, things would change for the better and he'd stick it out until that time, having her but not having her. They'd spent so long in a love/hate relationship to then become friends, although by that stage, he hadn't wanted her as just a friend any more. And now, as lovers, when finally they should have it all, they still couldn't acknowledge the fact unless they were behind closed doors, hidden away. And that got to Dempsey, it __**really**__ got to him._

"_Drink your tea," he told her, "and then you can open your present."_

_Harry sat up and swung her feet down to the floor, sliding a look towards him. She passed Dempsey his mug before taking a quick sip from her own and placing it back on the tray again. Then, to Dempsey's amusement, she plucked up the yellow box with relish and manoeuvred him into the corner of the sofa so she could sit between his raised knees._

"_And you chose this all by yourself, you say?" Harry asked playfully._

_Dempsey was relieved to hear the humour in her voice. "Uh huh. Picked it out and gift wrapped it all by myself just like a real boyfriend ..." Instantly he cursed himself for his insensitivity. "Angel, I swear I didn't mean nothin' by that," he sighed heavily, "it was a feeble attempt at self-abasement and I even managed to mess that up."_

_She squeezed his knee affectionately. "I hadn't even noticed but thank you for pointing it out so candidly."_

_He chuckled. "Okay, so just open it already." He lifted his tea from its resting place on his right knee and drank half of it down._

_He sensed her nervous excitement as she bent her head and pulled the silver ribbon undone, draping it over his forearm. She lifted the lid off to find another box inside, this one bearing the name of 'Tiffany & Co.'. Harry swivelled her head to him, smiling broadly before returning to her task. _

"_You're spoiling me."_

"_You might hate it."_

_Lifting the printed tissue paper, Harry starred in wonder at the thin, delicate, pure silver snake chain bracelet, pinned to a dark velvet packing. The simplicity of it was accentuated by the very striking silver puff heart hanging in the middle. She touched a fingertip to it and the heart flipped itself over; two letter had been etched into the silver, separated by an arrow: J and H._

"_James ..."_

"_Yeah, I know. I guess it's kinda corny. Overcooked it with the engraving, didn't I?"_

"_No."_

_There was a pause. "So you think it's okay?" he asked anxiously. "Do you like it?"_

"_It's ..."_

"_Lousy," he supplied._

_She shook her head but stayed silent and Dempsey watched her fingernail scratching the corner of the Tiffany box, over and over._

"_Harry? I won't be offended if you don't wanna wear it."_

_She suddenly laughed, loudly and very slightly hysterical. "Yes, you would be." _

_She struggled to turn herself around and jogged his bandaged hand holding the mug on his knee. The warm liquid sluiced over the rim of the cup and splattered over the leg of his jeans but she didn't seem to notice. Tears were spilling down her cheeks for the second time since his arrival only an hour or so earlier._

"_Whoa, tiger. I've been soaked in blood, tea and tears so far tonight. You tryin' to drown me, here?" he grinned, realising that this time he was seeing tears of happiness. He dumped his mug on the carpet and took her by the waist._

"_It's perfect! It's beautiful and it's silly and I love it." She gulped, laughing again, her eyes shining as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. "The engraving ... it's so silly." She hugged him. "Oh, where is it?" She realised the box had fallen between them somewhere and scrabbled around hunting for it._

"_I got it." Dempsey pulled it from under his thigh but when Harry reached for it, he moved it away. "Wait, let me put it on."_

_Harry immediately offered up her left arm and Dempsey eventually succeeded in fastening the bracelet on her wrist after a brief tussle with the clasp._

"_It's gorgeous." She held it up for them both to see._

_Her child-like enthusiasm was all Dempsey needed to see._

_He'd had some serious reservations about the engraving; it was sentimentality to the point of mawkishness. But it was also sweetly ironic that what they were obliged to keep hidden should be displayed in such a conspicuous fashion hanging off Harry's wrist. She obviously 'got' that and it didn't seem to worry her._

_She relaxed back against his chest again and lay her left hand on top of his knee so she could continue to admire her gift._

"_Thank you," she said quietly._

"_I don't expect you to wear it, you know, like – out."_

_Dempsey lifted the bracelet in this thumb and forefinger and played with it, pulling it round and round her wrist._

"_Actually, I was thinking I could wear it all next weekend. Freddy wants me to go over for a visit."_

"_Yeah?" His contentment took a sudden nose-dive into despair. One of their precious weekends together had just been eaten up._

_Her thumb rubbed against wet denim. "I told him about ... our situation, about us," she said tentatively._

_Dempsey's back straightened. "You did? So what did he say? Was he cool with it?"_

"_Quite cool, I would say. The invitation was extended to you also so I think he's rather happy about it actually."_

_Dempsey relaxed a little. "Well, whadya know." Then he thought for a moment. "So when did you talk to him?"_

"_Earlier this evening." She looked back at him, suddenly realising what he was getting at. "Just because I wasn't speaking to you, doesn't mean I don't love you. I assumed we'd be okay by next weekend."_

_Dempsey wrapped his arms about her body, sheltering her with his own. "Never assume." He nuzzled his face into the side of her neck, tickling with his stubbled chin. Harry cringed away, giggling as he whispered, "I might've ditched you on your ass by next weekend"_

"_But you won't." She shrieked as the nuzzling became unbearable and Harry tried to lever herself up and out of his grasp._

"_And what makes you so sure of that, Dirty Harry?"_

_Harry raised her left arm and waggled her hand about. "Because 'J' hearts 'H' - it says right here."_


	12. Chapter 12

All I can say is, close your eyes (obviously not whilst you're reading), try to keep an open mind and hopefully you'll hear what I do.

Chapter 12

She knew the spoon had been intended as a joke, a play on words, a reference to the old days – that time she had handed in her notice at SI10 and he had turned up at her door to talk her out of it. He had found her drinking Champagne, a sop to her reservations, a celebratory token. He had asked what the spoon was doing in the neck of the bottle and she had told him it was to prevent the Champagne from going flat. How ironic. She hadn't been able to admit at that point that without him, nothing on earth could have stopped the bubbles from bursting. Without him, the fizz would be gone forever. Such a small and insignificant incident to remember.

Harry took another sip from her glass and wondered if she'd be able to relax enough to speak to Dempsey properly when he came back to the table. It was different, being on his territory. Until now, she hadn't appreciated his comment of the other day, his reference to 'neutral ground'.

She looked towards the bar to see if he'd made it back there yet but couldn't see him.

Random guitar chords unexpectedly rang out as the group on stage began tuning up and Harry transferred her attention to the front.

Suddenly, she felt a hot, floating sensation wash through her entire body as her eyes focused on Dempsey. Exactly what she was seeing was only partly registering - it just didn't seem quite believable. He was on a chair, front and centre, glancing behind him and nodding a silent communication to one of the musicians. Across his lap rested a guitar that he was strumming at in an exploratory fashion, checking the key and pitch with a look to the keyboard player. Before him was a microphone, low down on a stand and level with his head.

"Oh my god!" Harry wasn't even sure if she had said that aloud or not.

A sickly sort of smile found its way to her lips. "You've got to be kidding, Dempsey," she murmured.

Was it a joke? Was he having her on? He was going to get up in a minute and hand the guitar over to its rightful owner. Take a bow. He was simply playing the fool, entertaining the punters. So why did he look so serious? Her heart, she realised, was hammering so hard that she could hear it throbbing in her ears, damping down all surrounding sounds. He'd been a detective, then started a security business – not such a giant leap. And then buying a bar? Well why not? Wasn't that what many men dreamed of, owning their own pub? But they didn't all then want to pick up a musical instrument and sing to their clientele!

Harry found she was clutching the edge of her chair with one hand, the other gripping her glass tightly. The anticipation was almost excruciating. Bizarrely, he looked like he knew what he was doing up there, he seemed to fit in with the other two guitarists and the keyboard player on the stage. But then – he didn't – he couldn't! What he was doing on that stage wasn't what James Dempsey did. She'd heard him sing before of course, entertaining the troops in the office or on a boring and tedious surveillance job. Being Dempsey. And he'd even sung to her on occasion – being Dempsey the lothario. But he was about to do it for real and she didn't know whether she wanted to laugh, cry or just get up and walk out.

There came the high-pitched whistle of feedback from the mic. And then, "Good evening everyone, how's it goin'?"

Harry shrank down in her seat as Dempsey's voice rang out. She simply couldn't even watch and kept her eyes fixed on her glass, the contents of which was rapidly depleting.

"Thanks for coming. Nice to see a lot of familiar faces tonight."

Harry physically cringed and grabbed up the Champagne bottle, darting a quick, nervous look at the stage.

"Hi!" He raised a hand in greeting, smiling across at the large party seated at the front directly opposite the stage. "You guys got yourselves a season ticket, huh?" he asked quietly Several of them responded with cheers and clapping. "They're only here for the beer though," he quipped, almost to himself, resettling the guitar on his knee. It brought a flutter of laughter.

Filling her glass up again, Harry frowned at the rim for several seconds in rapt concentration. He could at least have warned her – prepared her.

"So the big scary black guy behind me is Julius. You don't like the way he plays his guitar, I'd advise you to keep it to yourself."

More laughter.

Oh God!

"Pete is the piano man. He don't say much – and to be honest, that's the way we like it."

Pete turned on his stool and gave the audience a 'thumbs up'.

"Dickie is the baby ... not even thirty yet and that gives you an idea of how old the rest of us are. Don't call him Baby Dick – he don't like it."

One of the forty-something ladies on the table near Harry let forth a shrill burst of laughter, causing extra amusement.

"I'm Dempsey ... Jim ... James, whatever and I strum along behind these guys. Sometimes I sing in tune."

Harry's thumbnails nervously broke open a pistachio nut, then another and another, crunching them up rapidly.

"Jill and Anthea are on the floor takin' your orders but just keep in mind, a drunk says out loud what a sober man is thinkin'." His fingers picked out a few notes on the guitar. "I kinda like that one."

Harry gulped at her Champagne. _I'm going. I'm just going to get up and go. _But she doubted her legs could hold her weight at the moment.

All went silent then until Julius began plucking a stream of notes from his acoustic guitar, followed by Dickie and then Dempsey started knocking a rhythm with the palm of his hand against his guitar and sang.

"_I spend the night in the chair,_

_Thinking she'll be there,_

_But she never comes,_

_And then I wake up and wipe the sleep from my eyes,_

_And I rise to face another day without her"_

The keyboard cut in across the guitars and Harry took a breath. It was okay. Yes, it was okay. He sounded all right. But still she could hear her heart crashing around inside her chest. She risked taking another look at the stage.

"_It's just no good anymore,_

_When you walk in the door of an empty room,_

_And then you go inside and set a table for one,_

_It's no fun to spend another day without her,_

_Without her"_

It was a Harry Nilsson song that she hadn't heard for years. Dempsey's voice wove into the notes, deep and rich, creating a melodically calming refrain. Despite his earlier warm-up routine, Dempsey now appeared oblivious to the audience, concentrating wholly on the music. It gave Harry a strange feeling to watch him; like he wasn't the same person any more, not the same man she used to know. He was doing something that the real Dempsey couldn't have done.

He strummed his guitar, a faint smile on his lips. She tried to study him objectively. The same but not the same. He held his body the same way, the movements of his head, the depth of his eyes, all the same. He was wearing black and Harry decided it suited him. Black jeans and a black shirt with a thin gold stripe and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His hair just curling into his neck, a little tousled looking. She had always loved his hair, wavy and unruly, thick and dark – an Irish gypsy.

"_We burst the pretty balloon,_

_It took us to the moon, such a beautiful thing,_

_But it's ended now and it sounds like a lie,_

_If I said I'd rather die than live without her."_

Dempsey ... singing, playing a guitar. It was just ... weird. But it was also a good thing because this wasn't the Lieutenant James Dempsey with whom she had fallen in love so long ago. This was a different man, a stranger to her and therefore he could have no hold over her emotions any more.

"_Love is a beautiful thing,_

_When it knows how to swing and it moves like a clock,_

_But the hands of the clock tell the lovers to part,_

_And it's breaking my heart to spend another day without her."_

What was she going to say to him when he eventually got back to the table? The whole situation was embarrassing although she really couldn't explain why. It was like when as a teenager, she had found out that her Great Uncle Arwen had a lover. To a young girl, it had seemed quite gross that this sixty-five year old relative should be indulging in bedroom capers but now, looking back with much older eyes, she would have to say 'good for you' and it had really been none of her business anyway. Who was she to judge what Dempsey was doing with his life? It didn't concern her and after tonight she would be walking away from it anyway.

She looked about her at the people listening to the music; people who accepted him for who and what he was now. They seemed to be taking him seriously, enjoying his voice. She stole another look at her ex-partner and tried to get past Lieutenant Dempsey sitting there. He actually had rather a pleasant voice she admitted reluctantly. Once upon a time his voice had given her goosebumps. Quickly, she looked away again as the song drew to a close. She didn't want to risk meeting his eyes as she politely applauded along with the rest of the bar. Briefly, she heard him introduce the next song, another she knew but this one from the last couple of years, from the rock band, Nickelback. She'd heard it several times played on the radio and Ed had the CD. The band transformed 'I'd Come For You' into a poignant acoustic ballad, intricately textured and sweetened by Dickie and Julius and Harry found she was captivated by the vocals.

Near the end, Jill arrived back, holding an empty circular serving tray to her chest.

"Is there anything I can get you, Mrs Cavanagh?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"No. Thank you. I'm fine."

"If you're hungry I can bring you the bar menu."

"Really, I'm fine," Harry assured her.

Jill remained standing there, watching the stage. "They're real good, huh?"

"Yes, yes they are," Harry answered coolly.

After a pause, Jill asked, "So have you known Jim for long?"

She had to smile. The girl was obviously fishing for information.

"Sort of," was all she offered.

But Jill wasn't quite content to leave it at that. "We figured you must be someone special – he told us to treat you like a princess."

"Very gentlemanly of him."

"That's what we said."

The girl was still hovering and Harry took pity on her. "We worked together many years ago, in fact, it was probably before you were even born."

"Oh yeah?" Jill slid into the chair beside Harry, sitting tentatively on the edge. "On Jersey?"

"Here in London."

It suddenly struck Harry that Dempsey may not have told her about his career in the police force, both here and in New York. People could sometimes have a strange attitude regarding Her Majesty's finest she had discovered.

"What, from when he was a cop?"

So she did know. She also sounded intrigued. "And you knew him then?"

"We were partnered together."

"Like – oh my God!" the girl whispered excitedly. "You were a cop too? That is so cool! Wow!"

They were playing 'Amoureuse' the Kiki Dee hit and Harry wished Jill would stop talking.

"So are you still a cop?"

"That boat sailed a long time ago."

"But you kept in touch all this time?"

"Actually – no."

'_Reaching out I touch another skin,_

_Breathing out is she is breathing in,_

_Deep inside I feel my soul aflame,_

_Can my love ever be the same.'_

"I love this song," said Harry, pointedly as the piano took over from the guitars.

"Yeah. Dempsey's got such a cool voice."

Harry turned a glance on her, smiling. Funny how people evidently still used his surname as well as his first name.

'_I should have told her,_

_I'd do anything if I could hold her,_

_For just another day, for just another day,_

_Her love is something I will not forget,_

_When I am far away, when I am far away,_

_I feel the rainfall on another planet,_

_Another planet ...'_

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she put her elbows on the table, chin resting on the back of her laced fingers. Okay, she was getting used to the idea she realised as she watched him perform.

"I'd better get back to serving," Jill said, standing up again. "Just gimme a yell if you need anything, okay?"

"I will... see you later," she added, thinking she might have sounded a little aloof earlier.

The girl flashed her a dazzling smile and moved off to do the rounds of the tables. Maybe she had been a bit short with Jill but then, she was Dempsey's employee and presumably if he'd wanted her to know why she was here he would have told her. And just what was she doing here? Catching up with an old friend. Realising that he wasn't that same old friend any more perhaps?

Everyone was clapping. Harry took a deep breath and joined in, covertly watching him as he thanked them, nodded, indulged in some banter with one of the tables. And she suddenly realised that not once since they began had he looked her way.

Another song. 'Make You Feel My Love'. She struggled for a moment to remember the original artist. It would come to her. Why was she so surprised to hear him sing like this? She'd known he had it in him. But as she eyed the people around her she knew that some of the regulars probably knew Dempsey better than she did now. Bob Dylan popped into her mind.

And then a memory came hurtling into her consciousness with such force that she pulled back from the table with a start. They had bought a tape, no, she had bought it for him. Leonard Cohen. She'd bought it for one song in particular that they had played over and over again and right now she was at a loss to recall what the title of it was. He had sung it to her and it had made her laugh, hearing him match the key, lowering the timbre of his voice a little but it had also turned her on. She shivered at the memory of what they had done together, listening to that song. And yet frustratingly, she couldn't remember what it was.

'_I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue,_

_I'd go crawling down the avenue,_

_There is nothing that I wouldn't do,_

_To make you feel my love'_

Harry drank down the rest of her Champagne and contemplated a third glass. But she was driving and anyway, at the moment she felt _almost _relaxed and that would have to be good enough. Maybe another glass later. She ate a couple of olives. Were people looking at her, wondering why she was sitting here by herself on a reserved table, she wondered. One or two had looked her way but then, hadn't she been doing the same?

The band was engaging in some caustic repartee now, mainly at Dempsey's expense but he was clearly enjoying himself. Harry listened to the laughter but could do little more than smile. She was on the outside looking in; in a self-contained vacuum. There was so much going on in her head that she wasn't sure what she thought any more and it seemed the thoughts she could decipher quickly turned into feelings that she couldn't. But what she knew was the simple fact that she missed him, as ridiculous as it seemed after twenty-three years, she still missed him.

Dempsey announced that 'I Am, I Said' was to be their final number before they took a break and instantly Harry's heart began pounding again. Another song she knew well, that bore some significance. He had sung it in the shower. She didn't know where they had been but it had been in a hotel somewhere so maybe they had been undercover. She could picture herself standing outside a bathroom door, hearing him sing that song and it had upset her.

'_Well I'm New York City born and raised,_

_But nowadays I'm lost between two shores,_

_L.A's fine but it ain't home_

_New York's home but it ain't mine no more.'_

Did he still have that memory too? Did he sing that song for that very reason? And when this song was over, surely he would come back to the table. How was she supposed to react, what did he expect her to say when she couldn't even begin to articulate her thoughts into coherent words?


	13. Chapter 13

_Chapter 13_

"_My dear boy! Absolutely delighted to have you staying with us again."_

_Lord Winfield held Dempsey's right hand and forearm and shook vigorously._

"_Alright, Freddy," Harry murmured, "no need to go overboard."_

_He turned to her reproachfully. "There's every need, every need, my darling. I was almost despairing of the two of you ever seeing what was in front of your noses. Pretty poor detective work I call it."_

"_Yes, well, shall we go inside?" Harry said rather woodenly, a little embarrassed by her father's over-enthusiasm._

"_Good evening, Abbot," she greeted her father's right-hand man, giving him the car keys she had just deftly removed from Dempsey's jacket pocket. "The luggage can all go up to my room," she told him determinedly._

"_Yes, Miss Harriet, his Lordship has already informed me." The vaguest beginnings of a smile twitched at the corner of Abbot's mouth and Harry was discomposed, realising that the accommodation situation had been discussed already with the staff._

"_Glad to have been invited, Sir," Dempsey was telling Lord Winfield. "It's nice to be able to get away for a while, y'know?"_

_Freddy nodded sagely. "Away from that watchful eye of Gordon Spikings, eh?"_

"_I think you might've hit the nail on the head there."_

_Harry tripped up the stone steps to the main entrance of Winfield Hall, wondering how it was possible to enjoy feeling annoyance._

* * *

_They had hit the road straight after work. Dempsey had stayed over at Camberwell Grove the previous night and they had stowed their suitcases in the boot of Dempsey's Mercedes before driving to the SI10 building that morning. Even so, they didn't arrive at Winfield Hall until just after eight o'clock and had to hurry to make it down to dinner which had been postponed until eight thirty._

_By the time they had finished their soup starter and the first glass of wine, Harry felt much more relaxed. She had let Freddy and James do most of the talking up until this point but now the improvement in her temperament gave her the inclination to join in with the conversation._

"_So when was the last time you went home, James?" Freddy asked, making the leap from telling the story of bringing Harry's mother to Winfield Hall as a new bride for the first time. Harry had heard that story many times before in the past but tuned in attentively to hear Dempsey's reply._

"_Seems like an awful long time ago. I haven't actually seen any family since I came to London and that's nearly three years ago now."_

_Freddy nodded. "That's a long time to be away from ones nearest and dearest."_

_Dempsey reached out to Harry's hand resting by her wine glass and squeezed it affectionately. "I got my nearest and dearest right here." His warm, dark eyes caressed her glowing cheeks._

_Freddy chuckled, taking pleasure from the look that passed between them._

"_But you'll go back to New York at some point?"_

_Harry found she was holding her breath waiting for his answer._

"_Hopefully. But when I do, I wanna take Harry with me – meet the folks."_

_She turned to face him fully at that, wide eyed and marvelling that he should choose to impart this information in front of her father first._

"_I can hear my mother now, braggin' to the neighbours that Jimmy's got himself a nice English girl."_

"_James!" Harry admonished._

_Freddy began pouring them all more wine. "But you are a nice English girl, my darling. James and I are most agreed on that."_

"_And I know my mother will be too."_

_She realised then that the two of them were baiting her, teasing her with their words of devotion. They were on the same side, acknowledging their mutual love of her by presenting a unified front._

_She reached for her father's hand across the table, her right hand still in Dempsey's. "I can see I'm going to have to watch the two of you, aren't I."_

_She was so glad she had told Freddy about the new relationship she and Dempsey shared. It suddenly all felt so wonderfully real._

* * *

_At half past ten they said goodnight to Freddy and ascended the wide staircase, hand in hand and slightly tipsy. It had been a good evening, liberating and exhilarating to be able to show the depth of their feelings for each other in front of Freddy and the household staff. It was all beautifully normal._

"_I think I'll have a quick bath before bed," Harry said, reaching up to kiss Dempsey's cheek when they were inside their room._

"_Now that sounds like a great idea – except for the quick part." He put his hands on her shoulders and brought his lips to her ear. "I was thinking maybe slow," he whispered, "and warm," he kissed her earlobe, "and deep."_

_Harry shivered as his mouth ghosted down her neck._

"_Want me to go_

_run the bath?" he asked quietly._

_Harry opened her eyes with a gradual smile. "Yes but we should use one of the guest bathrooms in the West Wing; there's an en suite with a huge old claw footed bath that's just made for two."_

"_Oh yeah? You used it before?"_

"_Several times," she breathed against his ear._

_Dempsey raised his head and looked down at her with a slightly hurt expression._

"_Alone," Harry confirmed._

"_I should think so too. What would the servants think?"_

"_We don't refer to them as 'servants', Dempsey; this is the 1980's," she chided. "They're the 'staff'."_

_He grabbed her about the waist, digging his fingers in gently and making her squeal. "Well pardon me for bein' born the wrong side of the tracks."_

_She managed to wriggle out of his grasp and make a bolt for the door but hadn't got half a dozen steps down the hallway before he caught her again._

"_No. No, stop it!" she shrieked, feeling his questing fingertips playing along her ribcage._

"_What was that, M'lady?"_

_The tickling continued mercilessly as he followed behind her, both of them laughing hard enough to be heard by anyone on that side of the house._

"_Get your hands off me, Dempsey, or I'll have you horse-whipped," she cried out as imperiously as her high-humour would allow._

_Dempsey saw the way her lip caught up on one corner, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it and he felt a thrill run through him._

"_Woa! So am I the gardener or the handyman? Your call."_

_Harry giggled and shoved his hands down off her hips before darting away from him._

"_The gamekeeper – obviously," she called back over her shoulder._

_A slow grin rolled across his mouth. "Hey, yeah. You mean like Mellors, right? Lady Chatterley's Lover."_

_Dempsey made a lunge towards her. "Come here and let me show you what I can do with my twelve bore."_

_He caught up with her and Harry shrieked with laughter as they fell around the next turning on the corridor. Unfortunately, Mrs Beresford the housekeeper was headed in the opposite direction with the intention of retiring for the night when they all but collided with her._

_Harry was mortified yet devilishly unrepentant. "I'm most terribly sorry, Mrs Beresford." She couldn't help the little smile that lit her eyes up. " We were just going for a ... erm ... a stroll ... around the grounds. Before bed."_

"_No harm done, Miss Harriet." She eyed Dempsey knowingly, recognising a certain glint in his eye. "Good evening, Mr Dempsey."_

"_Hi Mrs B. And may I say you're looking particularly lovely tonight?"_

"_If you wish, Sir," she replied stiffly before continuing on her way._

_They turned to face each other, wide eyed and open mouthed, laughing together in silent collusion._

"_You think she heard any of that?" Dempsey whispered loudly._

"_God, I hope not," Harry whispered back. "Twelve bore shot guns and horse-whippings!"_

_Dempsey let out a very loud 'neigh', stamped at the ground with his foot and stood in front of her, facing forwards with his arms held out behind him._

"_You want a horse, I'll give you a horse. Jump up."_

"_Idiot!" she reprimanded but all the same, launched herself onto his back, clinging tightly and screaming with laughter as he galloped off. His attempt at a whiney, she assured him through her hiccoughs, sounded remarkably pig-like._

_Harry's directions got them to the required guest bedroom and they fell through the doorway hot and breathless and still laughing uncontrollably._

"_Come on then," Harry enticed, marching straight through to the en suite bathroom._


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The moment Dempsey laid his guitar down on his chair the nerves kicked in again. He'd been fine once things had got started but now he felt his fingertips trembling and his stomach was doing revolutions.

The four band members grouped for a few seconds to praise their performances and confirm the time they would reconvene.

"She's a bit of alright, isn't she mate?" Dickie commented, nodding towards Harry but keeping his eyes on Dempsey. "Well preserved."

"Keep those sticky fingers on the strings, Dickie boy," he menaced. He didn't miss the warning look that Julius shot Dickie's way and felt himself tense up even more.

"I'm gonna get somethin' to eat," said Julius and disappeared without another word.

"Catch you later guys," Dempsey told the other two distractedly as his eyes turned towards Harry. She seemed to be busily engaged extracting pimentos from the dish of olives in front of her.

Hopping down off the dais, he shook hands with one or two people, glad of the excuse to prolong the return to Harry.

He had been disillusioned by his visit on Monday. He'd known he wouldn't be able to put off seeing her forever so he had managed to build up an image of her in his mind's eye. She would have aged badly; her skin lined and sallow, her once slender figure now matronly and lumpy and her disposition superior and condescending as befitted a middle-aged woman with the title of 'Lady Harriet'. But fate had thrown him a curve ball. She had looked so damned good – better than his imagination had even allowed him to consider. And it had even felt as though they had been on the same wavelength when they talked. There had been no high horse, no aloofness, no coldness from her that he could discern. Of course that could be attributed to the stupefying effect of him turning up unannounced on her doorstep like that. But if that was really the case, why was she here tonight? It had been a mistake, asking her over on a Friday band night – a mistake asking her over at all. Hadn't Julius told him often enough?

She was embarrassed. Hell, he was embarrassed for her! How would he be feeling right now if it was the other way around and out of nowhere Harry had turned songbird on him?

Chastened, he approached the table. She saw him, smiled nervously and dropped her eyes again. Dempsey sidled into the chair opposite cautiously and cleared his throat. Harry flicked a glance up.

"Surprise!" he offered.

Harry put a hand to her mouth and coughed weakly. "Yes, it was."

"Sorry. I guess I should've warned you."

"It might've been an idea."

"Didn't think you'd have shown if I'd told you."

"Possibly not."

There was a brief silence while they both contemplated the tabletop.

"It was very good," Harry said uneasily. "I just wasn't expecting you to be ..." She looked up at him then and took her empty glass in her hand for something to do.

"Singing?" he filled in.

"Mmm. And playing a guitar."

"But once you got over the shock, it was okay?"

"It was very good," she repeated awkwardly. "You were ... very good." She looked up at him helplessly.

Dempsey whistled a single mournful note. "That bad, huh?"

Harry tutted, feeling frustrated with herself. "It's not that, it's just ... you're a different person, with a different life and it's a lot to take in all at once."

Dempsey reached for one of the three remaining glasses beside the Champagne bucket.

"Was I that different on Monday?" He plucked the silver spoon from the bottle and leaned over, about to refill Harry's glass.

She covered it with her hand.

"I'm driving."

He said nothing, pouring a glass for himself instead.

"I'd forgotten about the spoon thing until now," she said feebly.

He smiled wanly.

She opened her mouth to comment on the inscription but thought better of it so instead she asked, "So how long have you been ..." she gestured towards the stage.

"Singing," Dempsey said.

"And playing a guitar," they finished together.

Harry looked down at the table again, flushing slightly.

"A long time. I don't know, over twenty years."

"You're kidding!"

"What, I sound like I need some more practice?" he asked, feigning indignation.

"No, of course not," Harry said quickly. "How did it come about? It isn't exactly the sort of thing you just fall into."

"Was for me. I spent a lot of time in this bar near where I was living at the time. This was after I moved back to New York," he clarified. "There was live music on every night and Julius used to play there. The place was a second home for both of us so we got talkin', got friendly." Dempsey smiled as he recounted the story. "I'd sink a few too many cold ones and forget that Keenhans wasn't actually a karaoke bar. Julius suggested I try doin' it sober for a change and it started from there."

"How long did you stay in New York?" she asked quietly.

Dempsey sat back with a sigh. "It was six months, give or take before I decided to start over on Jersey."

"Why?"

"Met a guy owned a casino there. He offered me a job and I decided to take it."

"You left the N.Y.P.D to work at a casino?" Her nose wrinkled in perplexity.

"I walked before they made me walk. It wasn't workin' out and Jersey seemed like a good escape route." He drank his Champagne. "The casino didn't work out either of course but I'd made a few connections by that point and that's when I got the security business off the ground."

"But you always loved police work. I don't see how that could've gone so wrong."

She was leaning forwards, her forearms angled along the table, frowning at him intently. He was being gently interrogated by Makepeace!

"You got out didn't you? Why did you leave, Harry? You never told me on Monday."

Her lips parted but she didn't speak for a moment. "I had other things that I wanted to do. I realised there were more important things in life, that's all." She concentrated her gaze on him. "But we were talking about you."

"What can I tell you, I just never got back into the swing of it. Leavin' turned out to be the best move I could of made though."

He saw the minute twitch of her mouth and the way her eyes held his just a fraction too long.

"Leavin' the N.Y.P.D, leaving The States.

"Yes, I know."

She hadn't known at all he thought. She'd thought he'd been talking about leaving England, leaving her. Did that still sting, after all these years? He watched her fingers playing with the stem of her glass.

"Can I get you a soft drink? Coke? Water or somethin'?"

"A St. Clements?" she suggested.

"No problem. Just gimme a sec."

At the bar, Gavin left off filling the table order he had to rustle up the St. Clements. Julius was on a stool at the end of the bar, eating a toasted sandwich so Dempsey joined him whilst he waited.

"So let me guess," said Julius. "She freaked out and you're gettin' her a triple Jack?"

"She freaked out and I'm gettin' her a St. Clements," he corrected mildly.

Julius grunted. "Least one of you might be thinkin' straight." He took a bite of the sandwich. "Probably wants to keep her head clear so she can mess with yours. "

Gavin slid the requested drink across the bar and went back to his other order.

"Don't worry, I got that crucifix around my neck and a bible in my back pocket. I'll be fine."

Julius just grunted again.

"You brought the whole fruit bowl," Harry commented, examining the drink Dempsey had presented her with.

The rim of the glass had been decorated with elaborate curls of orange and lemon peel and a thick slice of each fruit nestled in the crushed ice. Harry stirred it around with the straw and took a sip.

"Gavin likes to go the extra mile," Dempsey confirmed.

"So how come Julius is here in London?" Harry wanted to know.

He grinned. "Basically, the guy's a bum," he told her with clear affection in his voice. "Never had roots, doesn't want roots. He came over to Jersey for a visit one time and stayed three years. Went back to The States eventually but he was back again five years later. We'd always stayed in touch and I'd sometimes go back to New York and catch up with him whilst I was visiting with family, you know? When I decided I'd had enough of Jersey last year, he just kinda tagged along, helped set up this place. All he really ever wanted to do was play music so this was the perfect opportunity.

"Did he work for you on Jersey?"

"Part-time, yeah. He was gigging in various bars and clubs with a couple of guys. I joined in, off and on for years."

He watched her, her elbows on the table, shoulders hunched forwards as she toyed with her straw, twirling it around. Such an old, familiar pose. _And she would look up at him through her eyelashes as she sucked through the straw, always unconsciously flirting with him._

"And that's where your son's – Jack isn't it? – that's where you met his mother?"

She was curious but Dempsey could hear the cautiousness in her tone.

"Yep," he nodded, completely aware that his body language was giving away his discomfort but unable to do anything to stop it. "Juliette. That was somethin' else that was off and on for years. She'd take as much of me as she could stand before tellin' me to piss _off _," he raised his hand out in a sweeping gesture," and I'd be _on _my way."

Harry acknowledged the levity with a smile. "Sounds soul destroying."

" 's why I eventually had to get out for good," he agreed. "Hated leavin' Jack but he was old enough to know it was for the best. I know it wasn't a lot of fun for him, seeing his parents fightin' all the time. I love the kid, you know? It was hard."

But Harry didn't lift her eyes, in fact she seemed to huddle even closer over her drink, stabbing her straw repeatedly through the ice. "Do you still get to see him?"

"Had him over for New Year. It was a blast, showin' him the bright lights, he'd never visited London before."

She finally let the straw go and sat up, smiling. "London's an exciting place, particularly for someone his age."

"He seemed to enjoy himself okay."

He's said something that had thrown her but he had no idea what. Yes he had; it was when he mentioned the fighting with Juliette, getting out of another destructive relationship. Well, she had another divorce behind her, they were obviously neither of them perfect – maybe that was what had gotten to her.

They lapsed into an uneasy silence. Dempsey rubbed a hand across his chin, trying to find something to say.

But then a sharp beeping sound drew both their attention and Harry began scrabbling about in her 'glamorous' handbag for her mobile.

"Sorry," she said, "do you mind if I just get this?"

"No, it's fine."

He couldn't read the look on her face as she read the screen.

"Hello Sam!"

She had turned her head away, smiling.

"I know, I'm in a bar." She laughed softly. "Why, would it bother you?" More laughter. "Actually, he's a very old friend." She glanced up at Dempsey, pulling an apologetic face. "You could have asked me that tomorrow night, you know." She listened again. "Oh, I'm sorry Sam but I can't, I'm going to a friend's book launch in Hammersmith that day."

Dempsey helped himself to more Champagne, telling himself that he wasn't listening.

"No, a different friend," her voice trilled flirtatiously. "No ... yes ... no!"

Definitely a guy she was talking to.

"I hadn't even thought about it ... What makes you ask that? ... Well, it depends why you're asking ... Alright then, blue."

And this conversation was bothering Dempsey because ...?

"Yes ... yes. Alright, I'll see you tomorrow. Bye."

Harry slid her phone shut and dropped it back into a pocket inside her handbag.

"Sorry." Harry screwed up her face as she apologised again.

Dempsey smiled placidly. "At least a potential number three?"

Harry shook her head. "I haven't known him long actually."

"No?" Dempsey asked, prompting her to part with a little more information.

"He was the last article I wrote; I think I told you, the guy who owns Carnaby Luxe – Sam Tate."

"Mmm." Dempsey swallowed a mouthful of Champagne. "You didn't tell me the name. So you're seeing him?"

"I suppose I am," she smiled happily.

"Mmm," he said again, thoughtfully.

"What?"

"No, nothing, just that I may know him – indirectly."

"Do you?" she asked, amazed.

"Does he live in Kensington?"

"Yes!"

"Then it's probably the same guy. Society Security did a fit for him a month or so back. I get the figures emailed to me every week and that one stood out, not least of all because it was a London address."

Harry was surprised. "Do you often get work coming in from this far a field?"

"Not usually but we sometimes get recommendations. Rich clients are happy to pay the travel expenses for the right service."

She sighed resignedly. "So what was so odd about the work you did for Sam?"

"Real big job as I recall. Internal and external CCTV cameras boosted up with IR LED's for night vision, networkable DVR operating on a five hundred gig hard drive, electronic gates connected to said system and a real swanky safe hidden away from prying eyes behind a false wall."

"So he's very security conscious. There's no law against that is there?" she asked, piqued by his attitude.

"It's a residential property, Harry. Don't you think that's a bit excessive?"

"Well I suppose I might if I knew what a networkable five hundred gig hard drive ... thingy, was."

"Basically," Dempsey explained, "you can keep an eye on your property any time of the day or night from anywhere in the world via an internet connection."

"Oh."

"You see? Why would you install that kind of system in your home – unless it's of the stately variety, of course."

"You're the expert, you tell me." But then Harry suddenly had a thought. "Given that he owns Carnaby Luxe it probably isn't that surprising. I know for a fact that he takes new designs home with him sometimes. Sample garments of a new collection could cost him a fortune if they fell into the wrong hands."

"You know for a fact?" Dempsey smirked. "He taken you back for a peek at his 'new designs' then, Makepeace?"

"He cooked me dinner last night as it happens," she told him superciliously. "And he showed me a few of the designs he might be using in the next collection. Oh and by the way, it doesn't really make any sense calling me 'Makepeace' any more, likewise, neither would calling me 'Cavanagh'," she smiled across at him sweetly, "seeing as I'm no longer in the Met."

"Okay, babe, I'll try to remember that."

Harry was about to object to the endearment but saw the twinkle in his eye and allowed herself a surreptitious snigger.

He'd forgotten her dislike of the term until the moment it had come out of his mouth but she had obviously thought it intentional and her reaction pleased him. He had always enjoyed making her laugh against her will.

"So what's this point you're trying to make about Sam?" she asked sternly.

"Just that the thousands of pounds he's splashed out on these security arrangements seems way over the top, speakin' from a professional point of view," he added.

Harry rolled her eyes. "And therefore he's up to his neck in some nefarious activity, is that what you're saying, James?"

He grinned. Rarely these days did anyone call him James. "Yeah."

She growled through gritted teeth. "You're ..." she cast around for something relevant, "... the same old Dempsey."

He drained the rest of his Champagne and leered triumphantly across the table at her. "Told ya."

Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills and Dempsey felt an indefinable surge of energy move through him. For a split second, that old connection was there, he would swear to it. Harry dropped her eyes first.

"Anyway, you're wrong," she said obstinately.

"By your own admission, you don't know the guy that well."

"Look, I told you, he takes work home with him, valuable designs."

"So how comes I didn't have no connection down between Sam Tate and Carnaby Luxe? Wouldn't he run the bill for all this security through the company accounts rather than his personal bank account?"

"Well I don't know, do I?" she shrilled. "Want me to ask him for you, Dempsey? I'm seeing him tomorrow night. 'Sam, the ex-police detective I used to be partnered with nearly a quarter of a century ago was wondering why you spent so much money with his security firm'. How does that sound?"

"Hey," he held his hands up defensively, "it stuck in my mind – gotta be a reason for that is all I'm sayin'."

"There'll be some perfectly reasonable explanation," Harry insisted. "Surely the client's requirements are gone in to pretty thoroughly at the outset when the quotation is submitted. If it's bothering you so much, why don't you get in touch with Jersey?" Harry sucked on her straw but then reared back spluttering. "God, I can't believe I just said that!" She wiped the back of her hand across her chin, staring at him.

Dempsey just grinned.

"No!" she said warningly. "I can assure you, you're barking up the wrong tree here."

He blinked slowly. "If you say so, tiger."

"I do."

Their eyes fixed on each others again, neither one of them prepared to take the middle ground.

"Excuse me."

A voice invaded their individual thoughts. They looked up to find Julius Bell who was managing to encompass both of them with his frown.

"We got a gig to do here, Dempsey. You comin' or what?"

Dempsey stood and put both hands flat on the table as he leaned forward. "Saved by the Bell," he whispered into Harry's ear, loud enough for Julius to hear.

"Yeah. Won't be the first time," Julius said gruffly, loud enough for anyone who happened to be listening to hear.

"So what d'you think, Harry, can you stomach round two?"

"You haven't met Magus, have you?"

"So who's Magus," he asked, prepared to play along.

"He's my cat. If I can stand his nocturnal caterwauling, I'm sure I can stand yours."

Dempsey made a Magnum out of his right hand and with a grin, he casually shot her down.


	15. Chapter 15

_Chapter 15_

"_Come on then," Harry enticed, marching straight through to the en suite bathroom._

_Dempsey followed her in and found himself slightly awed by the rooms' dimensions. As large as the bedroom itself, the lack of furniture and the impossibly high corniced ceiling gave an added illusion of vastness along with a rather eerie echo. As promised was the claw-foot bath; a monstrous vessel residing in the middle of the room that demanded attention._

"_Wow!" Dempsey acknowledged. "She's a beauty."_

"_She?" Harry smirked._

"_I thought all inanimate objects were referred to as 'she'. Or are bathtubs not covered by that rule for some reason unbeknownst to me?"_

"_Never really given it much thought."_

"_You spend enough time in'em, maybe you should," he joked._

_Harry had inserted the plug and was now deliberating over which bubble bath to add from the array of bottles displayed across the top of a low pine cupboard._

"_Oriental Cherry Blossom?" she enquired._

"_You're the bathing belle, I bow to your judgement," he said, unbuttoning his shirt. "Say, isn't that thing gonna take forever to fill?"_

"_Not really."_

_She crossed back and turned on the taps, bringing forth twin geysers of rushing water that flooded the bottom of the bath in moments. Liberally, she added bubble bath to the steaming torrent and then stood back. "It only takes a few minutes."_

_She went and fetched two thick fluffy white bath sheets from out of the cupboard and stacked them on the narrow, high backed chair at the side of the bath._

"_So there was this blonde," Dempsey began._

_Harry rolled her eyes and went to the mirror fronted cabinet over the sink to find something to tie her hair up with._

"_... and she's heard the thing about bathing in milk to keep you lookin' young."_

_He started taking off his shoes and socks. "... figures she'll give it a shot."_

_He watched the way her back curved in and her behind curved out as she reached up to fix her hair. The tight cut-off trousers and white semi-transparent oversized shirt she wore belted around the waist showed off her figure to perfection._

"_She leaves a note out for the milkman to deliver fifteen gallons and the next morning, the milkman reads the note and assumes, what with her bein' blonde and all, that she's made a mistake and meant to write one and a half gallons ..."_

"_We sell milk in pints here, Dempsey," Harry felt compelled to point out_

"_Don't interrupt the flow."_

_Harry made a face at him in the mirror but allowed him to go on_

"_The milkman knocks on her door and asks her if she really meant to write fifteen gallons. She tells him, 'sure I did' and explains to him that she wants to bathe in the stuff ..."_

_Harry slipped out of her shoes and draped her belt over the back of the chair on top of Dempsey's shirt_

"_The milkman shrugs his shoulders ..."_

_Harry smiled at the sight of him, standing only in his Jockey shorts, actioning the milkman's shrug._

" _... and says, 'Fine, do you want it pasteurised?' No, says the blonde ..."_

_He broke into a grin as he prepared to deliver the punch-line, " 'Just up to my boobs'."_

_With her left arm wrapped about her waist and the forefinger of her right hand lightly stroking her lower lip, Harry told him disparagingly, "Just get in the bloody bath, would you?"_

"_What? You didn't like that?" he grinned._

"_You have a 'blonde' joke for every occasion, don't you, Dempsey?" she said, covering her smile._

"_I like to think I have all bases covered, yes."_

"_Such a shame that none of them are funny."_

_Harry returned to the cupboard and took out a polythene bag full of green tealight candles which she proceeded to set out along the bath, five down each side._

"_We expectin' power cuts?" he asked innocently._

"_Ever the romantic," she sighed, lighting each one in turn with a book of matches._

_Dempsey went to the door to turn the room light off and lingered for a moment, admiring the scene._

"_That's kinda nice," he admitted._

_Harry was satisfied with his response and after testing out the temperature of the bathwater, turned off the taps. The sudden quiet was almost mind numbing until after a few seconds, their ears became used to it and the gentle, calming 'pop' of the eddying bubbles took over, exaggerated by the echo in the room._

_Wordlessly, Dempsey stepped out of his shorts and slid under the foaming waters. He sighed appreciatively and sat back with his legs before him and his arms resting along the length of the bath beside the tealights. He let his head fall back. "God, this is good."_

_Harry perched on the end of the bath to watch him, enjoying the way the candlelight glinted over his arms and torso, his face deep in shadow. She felt a dark, bottomless need for him, she wanted to own him and for him to own her and it frightened her, to desire someone so badly._

"_Get in, Princess," he slurred, drugged with wine and warmth and a sense of well being_

_He didn't raise his head and his eyes remained closed while she stripped her clothing off and that frightened her too, the very notion of complacency. She wanted him greedy, she wanted him hungry._

_Harry sank down through the meringue of bubbles and sat with her arms up around her knees at the opposite end, the taps behind her._

"_So what do you think we should do tomorrow night?" Dempsey asked presently._

_Freddy had insisted he wasn't going to disrupt their time together over the weekend but was eventually persuaded to join them for an early dinner, where after he would get a taxi back to Winfield Hall and James and Harry would go on elsewhere._

"_I was thinking we could go to Spinnakers on Feathers Hill," she said softly, tracing over his eyelids with her gaze._

"_Mm hm. Is that a club or somethin'?"_

"_I used to go there regularly when I lived at home. I suppose it might be awful now though, it's been years."_

"_We could try it out, baby."_

_That made Harry smile. He rarely called her 'baby', knowing her aversion to the term. Just very occasionally though, when he was half asleep, it might creep out._

"_You sound shattered."_

"_Just thinking."_

"_About tomorrow?"_

_His eyes opened then and he looked at her._

"_About Freddy. He's a real sweet guy isn't he."_

_Harry reached out and rubbed a hand down his calf. "You must miss your own father."_

_He laughed at that and the gentleness had gone from his voice when he said, "My father was a drunken, worthless shit, Harry."_

_She couldn't quite get her head around that._

"_I thought you were close. You said you used to meet him in that bar for a drink after your shift finished every night; you used to take him home."_

_He stared hard at her, his eyes boring deep before he shut them again. "I took him home to keep him sweet, that's all."_

"_Keep him sweet?"_

_Candlelight rippled up his arms as the muscles bunched in his biceps. "Look, Id' sooner not talk about him."_

_But Harry inched nearer, both hands now on his shins. "Tell me," she urged._

_Shifting in the water, his eyes met hers again and he appeared suddenly uncomfortable. "I said no."_

_"Why?"_

_"Forget it, Harry. Please. Just leave it, huh?" _

"_I want to know, James," Harry commanded stubbornly._

_He was fully awake now, agitated by her insistence. _

"_I want to know," she repeated and then threw out her challenge. "Don't you trust me?"_

_He still didn't speak for a while, his gaze fixed somewhere on the frothy surface of bubbles between them. Finally he said, "I ain't never told no one."_

_Harry's stomach folded over into itself as her mind dug through those bare bones. "Go on," she said carefully, wondering now if it had been a mistake to push him into something he was clearly so ill at ease with._

"_I met up with him one night in The Shamrock," he began steadily. "Told him about my day, the creeps I'd had to deal with, guys I worked with." His voice was low and deep. He ran a hand through his hair, scratched his nose._

_Harry made a small sound in her throat to prompt him to continue._

"_Course, he was drunk by then and his mood could've gone either way but I hoped another drink might just be enough to have him pass out cold."_

"_And that was a good thing?" Harry shook her head, far from understanding._

_His head turned distractedly and he looked longingly about the room for something to latch on to. His cheeks puffed up and he blew out softly._

"_He'd beat up on my mother sometimes, when he felt life wasn't goin' his way."_

_She didn't know what she'd expected but not that._

"_Oh, God," was all she said._

"_We'd grown up with it, me and Gil and as kids, we knew it was wrong but didn't think there was nothin' we could do about it." He shrugged. "She always denied it anyway."_

"_Did he ... did he beat you too?" Harry could hardly speak, couldn't face his answer._

"_No more than any other kid on the block."_

"_James!" she protested._

_He smiled slowly. "This was The Bronx, Harry, it was normal back then._

_She felt tears pricking at her eyes. "What happened?" she asked with a voice she barely recognised._

_Dempsey rubbed a wet hand across his chest. "I got him home and he seemed okay. Ma always stayed up so's she could put him to bed. I left them to it and got half way to my place before I realised he'd left his coat in my car. I went back and found him thrashing hell out of her."_

_Harry felt herself blanch. It was painful to hear. "I'm sorry. That's horrible," she whispered._

"_I wanted to kill him there and then. I wanted him dead but she begged me to go home."_

_Harry found herself clutching Dempsey's lower legs, her fingernails digging in too hard. "Was she alright?"_

"_The usual; busted lip, bruises down her arms."_

"_Couldn't she just walk out?" She dropped her head then. "I'm sorry, that was a stupid thing to say wasn't it. It doesn't work like that." She asked tentatively, "Did you go?"_

"_Yeah, I went. Rang Gil when I got home, told him I was sick of it."_

_Dempsey hesitated then, trying to gauge what Harry's reaction might be to his next words._

"_We went down to the Red Hook docks the next morning; where he used to hang out with his old cronies. When we'd finished with him, we took him to the E.R and left him there." He couldn't meet her eyes._

"_You beat up your father, you and your brother?" _

_Dempsey suddenly sat forward, causing the bathwater to rise up in a small tidal wave. "Have I shocked you, Makepeace? Huh?" He leered into her face, grinning. "More of a thug than you thought? You knew already I was good with my fists." _

_Harry drew her hands out of the water and took his face between them. "You haven't shocked me."_

"_No?" Dempsey cried. "He died, Harry! Not right away but three months after I put him in the hospital, he died."_

_Still she clung onto his face, desperately searching his eyes for some sign of what he needed from her whilst at the same time trying to reconcile his words in her mind. She was found wanting on both counts._

"_I'm so sorry, James. I'm, so sorry."_

_She tenderly kissed his lips, concentrating on his beautiful mouth, kissing away the pain his own words had caused him._

"_He died," he repeated as Harry's lips hovered over his. "They put it down to his drinking, liver failure the doctors said but he never really recovered from what we did to him."_

_Softly, she imprinted her wavering smile upon his mouth. "Then it wasn't your fault was it? He was going to die anyway. Whatever you did, he would've died, wouldn't he?"_

_He clutched her upper arms, anchoring her down. "Never told no one before. We never told anyone."_

_Harry's fingers felt suddenly warm and she realised that his tears were flowing down them, silent tears that gleamed on his cheeks in the candlelight. "It's alright. It's alright," she soothed, tasting the salt on her lips as she pressed her face to his._

"_I let her down. I shoulda stopped it years before and I didn't. Should of made her leave. Should of got her outa there," he rambled._

"_You couldn't, James." She raised herself up to kneel between his legs and drew his head against her breast. She stroked her fingers compulsively through his hair. His whole body heaved against her with quiet, shuddering sobs and the sounds of splashing water echoed around the bathroom._

"_You can't blame yourself. You were protecting her, you didn't want it to go on any longer."_

_His arms wrapped tightly around her, holding onto her, holding on to something to block it out._

_It was several minutes before Harry finally had to give in to the protests of her aching body. Her kneeling position had induced a torturous throbbing in her lower limbs that forced her to eventually prise herself from Dempsey's grasp. He reluctantly let her turn herself about to sit with her back against his chest and his arms were immediately drawing her into him again. _

_He had partially regained his composure, struggling now with some kind of apology. "I don't know where that came from. It was a long time ago. I didn't want to tell you like that," he laboured._

_Harry smiled weakly, feeling drained and shaken by his disclosure. "I'm glad you did," she said, her hands crossing over her chest to stroke his upper arms. And she was glad. He had bared his soul to her, trusted her enough to weep in her arms._

"_Were the police involved?" she dared to ask._

"_No," he said quietly._

"_Because you were a cop?"_

"_Because he never reported it. How would that look, beaten to a pulp by his sons for abusing his wife? He wasn't gonna say nothin'."_

"_And your mother ... how did she take it?"_

_He sighed deeply. "Ahh, Harry. I'm not even sure I know."_

"_You didn't talk?"_

"_Not really. She knew we'd done it for her, 'cause we didn't want her to go through that any more but I don't think she agreed with it ... the violence; she thought it made us as bad as him. But she didn't shed many tears at the funeral."_

"_What about Gil?"_

"_We were never as close afterward. Too much guilt flyin' around. Too many doubts."_

"_But you did it together – you went into it together."_

"_He's my kid brother – two years younger. I was on the force, he looked up to me. I talked him into it. He wasn't sure until I started fillin' his belly with my vitriol."_

_Harry laced her fingers through the back of his hand, feeling the thick, rimed lines of semi-healed skin, rough and raised._

"_He must've felt it too, he had the same anger as you didn't he? The same reasons for hating your father?"_

"_I still talked him into it. He wouldn't of done it without me there, pushin' him into it."_

"_You took the initiative, the responsibility, you can't take the blame as well."_

_He dropped a couple of kisses onto the top of her head. "Too late for that, Tiger but thanks for the moral support."_

_An elbow dug slowly, softly into his side, telling him it wasn't a joke, he shouldn't be flippant – that she loved him._

"_It wasn't your fault, James," she reiterated._

"_Yeah, well …"_

"_Is that part of what's been stopping you from going back to New York? Is it easier to forget, being here?" Harry asked. "They do want you to go back, don't they?" she asked suddenly. She couldn't bear the idea of his own family not wanting him, for the sake of the justice he had metered out as a young man._

"_I talk to my mother all the time on the 'phone, you know that. She wants me back in New York. Gil too. It's just that what happened back then, we don't talk about it, it's kind of a taboo subject, you know?"_

_She heard the smile that came with his next words. "And I know she really would love to meet my 'nice English girl'. Her along with a couple dozen of my various aunts, uncles and cousins."_

_His head lowered until he'd found her cheek and he kept it there. "So you think maybe you'd come with me to visit, Harry?"_

_A holiday. He was making it clear that was all he intended, for them to go to New York together as a couple on holiday, to be introduced to his family and to return to England together afterwards to resume their normal life. He wouldn't be going back for good._

"_Not sure how we'd square it with Spikings, being away at the same time but yes, I'd like to go, I think."_

"_Soon. We'll do it soon, huh?"_

_She laughed to hear him so eager. "Okay, Dempsey," she chided, "we'll do it soon."_

"_In the next six months?"_

_He wanted a commitment, wanted to know they'd be together still in six months, that to them, six months could be classed as 'soon',_

"_Perfect!"_

"_So now we just gotta work out a way of gettin' time off work."_

_Dempsey's fingers were playing with Harry's silver bracelet, absently sliding the heart around the chain, making it glint in the flickering light._

_She tapped at his hand, pretending to be annoyed._

"_You'll break it!"_

_He slowly lifted up her hand then and the bracelet slid down her wrist to settle half way down her arm. Tenderly, he kissed the silver heart where it rested on the smooth white skin of the inside of her forearm._

"_I'll never do that." _


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

It was the oddest feeling, spending time with him again. Harry felt in a kind of limbo, unsure as to whether she should be happy or not. What she did know was that whatever she was feeling, it couldn't be allowed to continue, not just for her sake but for those closest to her. Just by being here tonight she had switched on the proverbial fan and it was down to her to make sure nothing came close enough to hit it.

Dempsey's life was and always had been it seemed, very different from her own. When they parted, they had gone in opposite directions. She wondered if he had ever found contentment; it didn't sound to her as though he had. Even now, though he claimed to be enjoying life, his son lived apart from him and he had pried himself away from a failed and tempestuous long-term relationship. A fine haze of guilt descended and clung like cigarette smoke, permeating those dark, shadowy thoughts that had plagued her for countless weeks and months – years, if truth be told. But there was no point in that now, what was done was done. She had made a decision, right or wrong and there was no going back.

This time when the band returned to the stage, Dempsey moved his stool to the side of the keyboard and stood with his guitar a little in front of Dickie and Julius. The gradual process of descending quiet had Harry looking about her and she realised that the place had filled practically to capacity.

Dempsey once again launched into his spiel, warming the audience up and soon the bar was alive and animated by a sense of anticipation. This, Harry acknowledged was what she felt most uncomfortable with; what she would have told him two decades ago was his flamboyant temperament rearing its ugly head. Back then she might have verbally slapped him down or simply ignored him; now she was forced to sit here and brave his over-exuberance. But now, there was no one to associate them together, she reasoned, no one to know that she still cared about the way he made her feel.

The guitars began a hard, insistent strumming, cut through with a series of chords by Julius as Dempsey began singing. Harry smiled. His over-exuberance shone through and radiated the words he sang and she could tell he was enjoying what he was doing.

"_Pretty soon we were taking it serious,_

_Me and you underneath a mysterious spell ..."_

The guitars were loud and furious, chord changes leading the audience, the compelling rhythm prompting many to replicate the beat on the table tops or floor. The three guitarists glanced at one another every so often, clearly relishing the moment. Even Julius who had appeared so serious all evening was smiling now.

"_Like a shot in the dark, she was hot like a spark,_

_I only know,_

_Neither one of us tryin' to hold it down ..."_

She wondered what Juliette had been like; Juliette, the mother of his son. Did she miss him? Maybe she hated him. Would she take him back if he asked her to?

"_Neither one of us stoppin' to figure out,_

_What the roll and the rockin' was all about,_

_All we knew was that we couldn't get enough,_

_You and me in the heat of Delirious Love."_

There was a lot to take in and she was glad she had a little time to digest what he'd told her. God, what she wouldn't give to be able to finish off that bottle of Champagne! Did he seriously think that Sam had something to hide? He was a very wealthy man; what illegal activity would someone like Sam possibly be interested in? Dempsey's nose didn't know everything, she decided. Harry smiled. That had been one of his expressions, that along with 'life is hard and then you die'. Hardly the most appropriate of sayings for a Special Investigations undercover cop and she'd never appreciated him saying it around her. It was like tempting fate.

The bar was suddenly noisy with applause and Harry started to clap along with everybody else. That number had gone down a storm.

"This next one is one we play a lot. Always seems to be a favourite," said Dempsey as he took the guitar strap from around his neck and placed the instrument on the floor beside him. Then he fetched the stool back to the centre of the stage.

"I gargled with razor blades this morning 'specially."

A man on the large table shouted out, "I'm Your Man."

Dempsey laughed. "I know you are, sweetheart," and blew him a kiss.

Applause and hilarity ensued.

Harry froze.

Perching on the stool, Dempsey took the microphone in his hand. "But yeah, you got it. I'm Your Man by Mr Leonard Cohen."

Pete opened with a soft, snare drum brush beat and then began to play the thin, stylophonic opening bars. Once again, Harry felt her heart racing dramatically. This was it, this was the song she'd forgotten, the one she'd bought him the tape for – it was their song! Every word, every syllable came flooding back to her in an instant, every pause, every intonation raked screeching nails across her memory.

_"If you want a lover, I'll do anything you ask me to."_

He sang so deeply and seductively, responding to the liveliness of the audience by exaggerating certain words. The audience participation alarmed Harry. The regulars threw out cat-calls, howled at the appropriate moment and echoed back to him the mournful plea in the song. It was almost theatrical! The whole bar was having fun with it. When he'd said it was one they played a lot, he'd obviously meant it.

Harry felt slightly stunned, overawed by the whole thing. Tears welled in her eyes but she had no idea what they were doing there. Her stunted emotions gathered together, pooling painfully in her chest.

At the end of the song, Dempsey, for the first time on the stage, dared to look towards her. His broad smile was supplanted by an expression of melancholy and Harry looked away, embarrassed and confused. That song had been as emotionally charged as any conversation she could possibly have had with him and yet it had become twisted somehow by the humour injected into it. It had rattled her, disturbed her – hurt her.

The remaining four songs she listened to with a sort of tense trepidation, trying not to read too much into the choices, desperate not to focus on Dempsey and keeping her expression bland. How could he have _used _the song that way? How could he turn it into a joke? Because it simply didn't have any meaning for him any more so it no longer effected him. And yet she hadn't even remembered it until now so why was it upsetting her like this?

Harry nursed the fresh St. Clements that un-requested, the other waitress, Anthea, had brought over. She wondered, cynically, if she had merely wanted to get an up-close look at Dempsey's guest.

By the time the band finally left the stage area it was gone eleven. She watched as one of the bartenders threaded his way though the tables, trying to intercept Dempsey as he was waylaid by several enthusiastic well-wishers. Eventually he managed to speak to him and she saw the brief, agonised expression that covered his face. The raised fingers made it easy for her to lip read his "two minutes" and he darted quickly over to Harry's table.

"Harry!" he began. "Look, sweetheart, I'm so sorry." He bent down and kissed her forehead. "I gotta make one quick phone call. This guy wants to book the whole place for some kinda party. He's a good customer – big spender and he's told Paul he wants to book it through me."

He sounded hyper, no doubt on a high from the performance.

"That's fine – go."

He stood poised to go. "Real quick. You're sure it's okay?" He looked at her doubtfully.

Harry showed him a smile she wasn't feeling. "I honestly don't mind, Dempsey," she sighed.

He grinned. "Okay, but don't go anywhere. You stay right there." And he was gone again.

The entire evening it seemed had been a frenetic outpouring of the unexpected and Harry was now mentally fatigued. She leant forward, elbows up on the table and let her head fall between her hands. She shouldn't have come, she hadn't asked for any of this.

Feeling a presence beside her, Harry looked up to find Julius Bell looming over her. He thrust a large hand towards her.

"I'm Julius Bell," he introduced himself tersely.

Harry took his hand and they shook.

"Harry Cavanagh," she replied.

Julius sat himself down in an adjacent chair, leaning forwards, his bulk bringing him up close to her.

"I know who you are." He turned his head until his face was within inches of hers.

"You the bitch screwed him up so bad all those years ago."

Although she had been called far worse, these days such verbal abuse was a thing of the past and his words hit her forcefully.

Her eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry?" she asked in disbelief.

"You're way too late for that," he mocked, "and besides, I don't think you have any idea just how much you got to apologise for – do you, Lady Harriet?"

"I don't understand ..."

"Don't s'ppose you do. You weren't around to pick up the pieces, sweetheart." His deep, rich voice was being used as a weapon to wound her. "Dempsey hasn't told you the story?" he asked scornfully.

Harry shook her head, intimidated by the way he had invaded her space, feeling threatened by the way he was speaking to her.

"I'll be brief. I first met him in a bar I way playin' in on Noel Street back in New York. I'd see him get wrecked every night, hittin' on women and when he could still stand, goin' home with 'em. Every night, week after week. He'd hit the self destruct button."

Harry blanched at this unexpected information, mentally shying away. She looked down into her drink, not knowing what to say.

"I knew he was a cop," Julius continued, "happens a lot, they get to see a lot of things unfit for human consumption." He paused, fixing his steely eye on Harry. "One night it just all seemed to come pourin' outta him. Didn't make no sense at first – high as a kite, wailin' on 'bout the English aristocracy and some lady he'd left behind him. Nothin' to do with the job at all."

"Long time ago, Mr Bell," said Harry quietly, not wanting to hear any more.

"And he was out of it for a long time too. He had you like a disease – you infected his life Mrs Cavanagh. Got so he didn't care whether he lived or died." He held her eyes. "You ever feel that way?"

"I didn't know," was all she could say.

"I got him to a doctor, filled his prescriptions for him ... you hear what I'm sayin' to you, Mrs Cavanagh?"

Harry felt physically sick. "I didn't know," she repeated, dully.

"Then I guess it's about time you did." Bell's voice was unhurried, deliberately calm. "You should know that you've been a blight on his life. He doesn't need you screwin' up what's left of it. Right now, Dempsey thinks he wants you around but you and me both know he's wrong, don't we?"

Julius had spotted the long black box on the table and made the connection with the spoon in the Champagne bottle. He drew it from the bottleneck and smiled as he read the engraving along the handle.

"Cute," he said bitterly and let it drop into Harry's St. Clements. "You know if you go now, you can spare him the painful goodbyes," he said pointedly.

Dazed and numb, Harry was almost grateful for his direction. Blindly, she stood and picked up her handbag. "I never realised ... I honestly never knew he ..." She couldn't look at that pitying yet amused look on Julius's face and so turned and fled, conscious only of the need to be gone before Dempsey returned.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

_They paid the taxi off and stood on the pavement, looking up at the huge neon sign depicting a stylised blue sailing boat with the name 'Spinnakers' beneath it._

"_This place ain't gonna be full of kids, is it?" asked Dempsey, doubtfully._

_Harry shook her head. "I know the owner – he doesn't cater for that sort of clientele."_

"_Sorry, I forgot you were a sophisticated teen back in the day, right?"_

"_Naturally," she said, dryly._

_Harry took his arm and they ascended the three shallow steps to the entrance where a pair of bouncers nodded them through to the foyer._

"_Classy," said Dempsey, approvingly, surveying the dark blue walls and carpeting and the ocean waves of white neon which lead them through to the main dance and bar areas once they'd paid at the desk._

"_It's certainly changed since I was last in," Harry observed as she scanned the club. _

_It was considerably smaller than the London clubs they were used to but the atmosphere was inviting and they walked down the wide stairway towards the bar._

"_So what do you think?" Harry shouted over the strains of Depeche Mode._

"_Well, that's pretty cool," Dempsey called, pointing up at the huge white silk sails suspended from the ceiling, being filled by means of a series of hidden wind machines._

_Harry laughed delightedly. "Gosh, that's fantastic!"_

_Dempsey loved to see her laughing that way, so open and unguarded. He grinned, putting his arm around her waist._

"_What are we drinking?"_

_Harry thought for a moment. "I don't know. Why don't you surprise me?"_

_Grinning, he leaned in to the bartender. "Hi. Can you give me a Jack Daniels on the rocks and a tonic water."_

"_I said surprise me, Dempsey, not induce a bloody heart attack!" Harry choked. "I'll have what he's having," she told the bartender._

"_Never known you to drink Jack before, Harry," he smirked._

"_Then you're the one who's surprised," she retorted._

_Dempsey reached inside his jacket but Harry produced a ten pound note and slid it across the bar. "Oh please, let me," she said smoothly._

"_I got no problem with that, Makepeace."_

_Their drinks were handed over and they took them to stand at a nearby pillar encompassed by a narrow shelf. A new track began. _

_Dempsey took a slug of his drink. "Hey, I like this ... reminds me of you."_

_It was Robert Palmer, 'Addicted to Love'. "Those girls in the video, all sultry and sophisticated."_

"_Am I supposed to be flattered?" she derided. "They're clones!"_

"_Nah. You're definitely one of a kind, princess. But I kinda like that vampy look." He wiggled his eyebrows. "If you know what I mean."_

"_Mmm," said Harry, "I'm afraid I do."_

"_The tight, stretchy dresses," he continued, eyeing her black figure-hugging dress with the lace sleeves and back panel that scooped all the way down to the bottom of her back. "And the high heels," he looked down at her stiletto shod feet, the height of which brought her much closer to his own height than was usual, "they really do it for me."_

_Harry met his eyes, savouring the warm flavour of the Jack Daniels in her mouth along with his warm eyes roving her body. She was well aware of what 'did it' for him and had dressed accordingly but he didn't need to know that._

_Dempsey took a cigar from his breast pocket. "Do you mind?" he asked._

"_I'd hate to come between a man and his vices."_

"_I only got one vice," he said, pocketing his lighter again after lighting up. He leaned in close to Harry, whispering loudly, "and she's a secret one."_

_The rich aroma of the cigar smoke drifted upwards between them, tendrils curling mystically on the air with the throb of the music._

_Harry was about to reach for a kiss but the spontaneity shrank away from her and the moment was gone also. Being in a public place like this, with him, James Dempsey, not some undercover alter ego was hard to quantify when it came to intimacy._

_He didn't seem to notice, just gave her one of those grins and took a step away to observe the crowd. She watched him take a drink before depositing his cigar in his mouth, his head and shoulders dipping slightly in time with the music. God but he was gorgeous. There was no reason in the world for her not to show him exactly how she felt was there? She longed to be impulsive around him and she realised with dismay that she had probably shown him more spontaneous affection when they had gone out together as friends._

"_James?" She closed the distance between them and Dempsey turned his head back in surprise as her hands moved up under his jacket._

"_I do love you," she told him earnestly. "I really do love you so much." _

_He removed the cigar to speak but she kissed him ardently, her moist, lipstick-slicked mouth opening against his lips, pulling her deep passion to the surface for him to feel, raw and exposed. He responded without vacillation, his fingers inching around her waist and then his hands sliding down smoothly across her rear in a 'V' shape to hold her firmly against him._

"_Hey," he said after a moment and Harry could hear his smile as he spoke, his mouth still touching hers._

"_Hey," she echoed and was rewarded with a gentle squeeze._

"_That was nice."_

"_It was." She could feel the warmth of his skin radiating through his fresh cotton shirt, could smell his scent mingled in with it._

_Dempsey swung his head when he felt a tap on his right shoulder and a stern male voice telling him, "You'd better put her down – I know here she's been."_

_He was about to ask the tall, lanky guy behind him what the hell he was talking about when Harry suddenly cried out, "Neil!" and quickly tore herself from Dempsey's embrace. Flinging herself at the Neil character, she began, "Where's ... "_

"_I'm here," came a girlish, sing-song reply._

"_Claire!"_

_Dempsey watched as Harry pinballed between the two, kissing cheeks, grinning like a Cheshire cat. She suddenly grabbed his forearm and pulled him forwards. "James," she said, "this is Neil and Claire Peterson – very old friends of mine. And this," her eyes left the couple to gaze up at James, "this is my very significant other, James Dempsey."_

_Neil and Claire greeted him warmly._

"_So where did you meet?" asked Claire, obviously wondering at Dempsey's accent._

"_Through work," he answered, thinking it would please Harry to leave it open ended._

"_He's a cop too," Harry filled in, "my partner in fact."_

_James unconsciously slid an arm around her waist._

"_Isn't that hard?" asked Neil. "You must be practically living in each others pockets."_

_Dempsey smiled. "Can't speak for her but I got very deep pockets."_

_Claire screwed her nose up. "Ahhh, that's so sweet."_

_Harry shook her head. "He's of Irish decent, Claire. Kissing the Blarney Stone is second nature to him."_

"_Hey, that's not nice!" Dempsey pretended to take offence._

_Harry rolled her eyes but covered his hand with her own where it rested above her hip. "Anyway," she told him, "these two were childhood sweethearts. Been together since they were fourteen, if you can believe that."_

"_Well, y'know, if I'd've known you when you were fourteen ..."_

"_You'd have been send down for child molestation," Harry filled in seamlessly._

"_Okay, that's probably true," he conceded and the four of them laughed._

"_Did you know we've got a baby now?" Neil asked._

"_No!" said Harry, exaggeratedly. "Lord, that makes me feel old."_

"_Actually, Hannah's eighteen months now. It's not often we go clubbing these days so it's funny we should bump into you when you're down here," said Claire. "Mind you, got to be home by midnight for the babysitter."_

"_No coming home with the milkman for us these days," Neil confirmed._

_Dempsey laughed. "Bet you wouldn't change it for the world though, huh?"_

"_An early night never did anyone any harm, did it?" said Claire before asking Harry, "No danger of you falling victim to family life anytime soon then?"_

"_Hardly," Harry scoffed. "High speed car chases down the Old Kent Road with a baby strapped into the back seat isn't exactly conducive to efficient policing."_

_Neil smiled. "Still the career girl then, Harry?"_

"_You bet! Wouldn't change it for the world," she echoed Dempsey's earlier words._

_Dempsey couldn't resist a smug glance. It hadn't been that long ago she had walked out of SI10 in favour of the bright lights and dizzy heights of the British Museum. Sounded to him now like it had only ever been intended as a temporary measure._


	18. Chapter 18

The lyrics in the song are all genuine! Have a listen on YouTube. 'ladymidnight' guessed the song I was going to use a while ago and reckons LC was a closet D&M fan – I think she may be right. We could have a competition – how many D&M references can you spot??? Anyone fancy making a YT video out of it? I now think of this song as the 'D&M Anthem' lol

Btw, we're still in_ 'Then' _mode for this chapter because it finished up being far too long.

_Chapter 18_

_The two couples spent the rest of the evening happy in each others company and that of Jack Daniels. Dempsey had insisted that Neil and Claire try it out and had finished up buying a bottle between the four of them. Conversation at the table they managed to appropriate flowed easily and animatedly. Naturally, it was Dempsey who immediately lead the way to the dance floor when the Aerosmith and Run DMC collaboration '"Walk This Way' started up. Under his instruction, they formed a straggling line and attempted to emulate his crossover dance steps but although the alcohol hazed their inhibitions it seemed to be doing nothing for their co-ordination and the line quickly fell apart. Harry and Claire instead took to gyrating seductively and Dempsey couldn't take his eyes off Harry as she swung her hips in a circular motion, arms in the air and a raunchy frown directed at him. The dress, he noted had risen up to her thighs._

_Dempsey sidled over to her and she looped her arms around his neck, pushing herself against him._

"_Gotta say, princess," he grinned, "I'm likin' your new partner."_

"_What do you mean?" Harry asked suspiciously._

"_You and Jack! You go great together."_

"_Better than you and me?" she baited._

_He bent closer to her ear. "Let's just say it'd be a wild threesome."_

_Harry took a step away so she could take a good slap at his shoulder. "You know, Dempsey, you can be utterly disgusting sometimes," she said, unable to maintain her 'severe' expression for long though._

"_Then I guess it's just rubbin' off of you, Dirty Harry," he leered._

"_I don't think so!" Harry baulked. "I was always a good girl before I fell into your filthy clutches."_

"_Always?" he queried._

_She hesitated, considering minor infringements and possible misdemeanours. "Yes," she wavered._

"_Not sounding too confident there, tiger."_

_Harry hung her arms around his neck again. "Let's just say that my husband would have been quite surprised by some of the ... situations, I've been in with you."_

"_Oh yeah?" Dempsey was pleased._

"_Mmm. You've been a _very_ bad influence, Lieutenant." She shook her head, frowning at him coquettishly._

* * *

_At 11:45pm, Neil and Claire were making inebriated promises to meet up again very soon. Taking Harry to one side, Claire declared herself fascinated by Harry's departure from the usual type of man she went for._

_Harry laughed. "Not my sort at all, is he? We're polar opposites!" she said brightly. "I couldn't stand him for a long time. I thought he was too loud, too brash, too vulgar ... too everything really but ... I don't know, something eventually just clicked."_

"_So is it 'lurve'" teased Claire, drunkenly._

_Harry suddenly became quite diffident, despite her rather exhilarated state. She nodded pensively._

_Claire giggled. "And he's drop dead gorgeous. I felt quite guilty dancing with him before."_

"_Guilty?" asked Harry. "Why?" she asked curiously._

"_Well, he's your bloke, isn't he and I'm married to Neil but ... he's very fanciable," Claire giggled again. She leaned in to Harry and glanced back over her shoulder to where the two men were laughing about something. "A girl could get lost in those eyes!"_

_Harry beamed. "Yes, he does have rather nice eyes, doesn't he?"_

"_Wedding bells?" Claire asked slyly._

_Harry shook her head vehemently, her eyes bright with laughter. "Nooo. Been there, done that, filed the divorce papers."_

"_Just because you got it wrong once ..."_

"_Means I'd probably make a balls up of it again," Harry finished. "and besides, James isn't the marrying kind."_

"_Every man has a chink in his armour," Claire assured her._

"_Well I'm not looking for a chink, or the knight wearing the armour come to that," scoffed Harry. "I'm not looking for a man to 'come and take me away from all this'." She heard herself slurring a little._

"_Not even James?"_

"_Not even James," she confirmed, "unless I happened to be going that way anyway of course."_

_Claire frowned, trying to work out where the conversation had lead them to._

"_Which way is that then?"_

_Harry looked at her blankly for a moment. "I don't know – I think I've got lost."_

_The two women burst out laughing then, enjoying the euphoric haze the alcohol seemed to have lent to the discussion._

_Neil came up behind them and leaned on Claire's shoulder. "C'mmon you, before someone pinches our taxi."_

"_Ah. So have you come to take me away from all this or are you just going my way?" she pondered._

"_Nope," Neil grinned. "Don't have a clue what you're talking about." He wrapped his free arm around Harry, asking, "Is that because I'm drunk I wonder or because she's drunk.?"_

_Harry giggled. "Oh for heavens sake Neil, you've obviously come to take her way."_

_He looked at her with intoxicated puzzlement. "Yeah, I know – taxi's outside to take us home." He smacked a kiss onto her cheek. "Decent bloke, your Jim," he said, jerking his head to Harry's other side where Dempsey now stood._

"_Well, let me tell ya," Dempsey intervened, "it was a pleasure to meet you, Neil, my man, and your very beautiful wife." They stood and shook hands solemnly and for far too long._

"_Taxi, Neil!" Claire yelled eventually, propelling him towards the exit and kissing Harry and James on the way out._

* * *

"_Nice couple," Dempsey commented as they moved a trifle unsteadily back to their table. "Great evening."_

"_Yes," Harry sighed happily. "Used to be really good friends with Claire when I was a child. Her father owned one of the shops in the nearest village. We saw each other a lot when I was home during the holidays."_

"_Different to the London crowd."_

"_Meaning?" Harry asked with a sportive chuckle._

_He shrugged. "You know, more down to earth."_

"_Not so up themselves?" she ventured._

"_Somethin' like that. But don't get me wrong, I ain't sayin' they're not fun people to be around, just a little goes a long way, ya know?"_

"_Ha!" Harry exclaimed. "I believe the same has been said of you on occasion."_

"_Hey, I'm American, it's expected of me."_

_The music had slowed down and Dempsey bashed out his cigar in the ashtray. "Dance with me, Harry," he commanded, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet again._

_They moved onto the dance floor as Bryan Ferry began to croon 'Slave to Love' and they started to sway together, Dempsey with his arms about Harry, she snuggling contentedly into him. When he kissed her forehead, she gazed up at him with a dreamy smile and he placed a tender kiss upon her mouth._

"_I really like this bein' together, Harry; I like us bein' a real couple."_

"_Me too."_

"_When was the last time we smooched like this, huh?"_

"_Last weekend, actually." She pronounced each syllable of 'actually' with exaggerated precision. Dempsey loved the way she overcompensated like that to stop herself slurring, sounding every inch the English lady._

"_Uh-uh. Doesn't count. Soon as my hands started wandering, I got the knock-back, remember?"_

"_We were in Tramps!" she cried, as though that explained everything._

"_What and they don't allow body contact on the dance floor?"_

"_When we go to Tramps, we're just good friends, aren't we?" she teased, poking him in the chest with a forefinger._

"_Now see, that's the part I don't get. When we really were 'just good friends', I seem to recall gettin' away with a hulluva lot more."_

"No you didn't darling," she drawled, "you were just more grateful, that's all."

"_Grateful, huh?" he nuzzled into her neck, making her squirm in his arms. "Is that so? And you like me grateful I'll bet, don'tcha ... _darling_?"_

_Harry rolled her head away, giggling uncontrollably but he followed her movements and she writhed under his ministrations._

"_I like you any way I can get you, Dempsey," she managed, belligerently._

"_Just so long as nobody knows what it is you're gettin'" he lamented softly._

"_You're so hard done to." Harry let her fingers drift through his hair. "I thought we more than made up for that behind closed doors."_

_He sensed the slight agitation creeping through her insobriety but his own overindulgence gave him the courage to go on._

"_So is it gonna be like this forever; pretending nothing's goin' on between us? I'm tellin' you now, it ain't gonna work, not in the long term." He threw in casually, "Or maybe we ain't lookin' at long term?"_

_Harry turned her head away languidly. "We've been here before – it's boring, James."_

"_Yeah, you're right, it is and I don't know why I have to keep saying it."_

"_James," she said soberly, "we're having our cake and eating it – what's the problem? Shouldn't we be enjoying what we've got?"_

"_I am enjoying it and right now, I'm happy." He ran his hands over the film of black lace covering her back. "I've never felt this way about any woman before. I'm just scared it's gonna go wrong." He stroked his thumb up and down her cheek. "But what if I want more ... what if I want more from you."_

_Did she understand what he was trying to say? Did she know how hard it was for him to even acknowledge he had these thoughts racing around in his head? One day, he knew, he would want to make his home with her; marry her, have kids with her, all the things that before Harry, had never crossed his mind._

_She took his hand away from her face and brought her body closer into him. "You're expecting it to go wrong, aren't you?" she asked him softly._

"_I guess so."_

"_Why would you do that, James? Why can't you have faith in us?" Her voice was gently chiding, gliding over the surface, subconsciously avoiding the depths of Dempsey's fears._

"_I don't wanna live my life undercover with you, Harry and that's what's happenin' here – don't you see it?"_

_Her hands went behind his neck so she could pull his head down to hers and kiss him fully._

"_What I see is you getting maudlin," she smiled, "when we're supposed to be having a good time. Isn't that what this weekend is all about?" Her lips grazed lovingly behind his ear. "Relax," she told him._

_He couldn't deny that right now, things were perfect. They were being James and Harry and they were here together with no ulterior motive._

"'_kay," he murmured. Maybe now wasn't the time to pursue it. When they got back to reality, that was when he'd make her understand the problem._

_Dempsey suddenly became aware of the new song that had started playing._

"_Hey, this is it!" he said excitedly. "This is the song!"_

"_And what song might that be?" Her arms still hung around his neck and she leaned back to look at him questioningly._

"_I heard it the other day," he told her. "Forgot to tell you. It's our song, Harry."_

"_Oh really? I wasn't aware we had a song."_

"_You gotta listen to this," he grinned, holding her rigidly in anticipation of the lyrics beginning._

**'If you want a lover I'll do anything you ask me to'**

_The male voice was almost risibly deep and slow to Harry's ears and she screwed her face up in a 'what an earth is this?' expression._

"_Listen," he whispered._

**'And if you want another kind of love I'll wear a mask for you'**

_Harry raised her eyebrows._

**'If you want a partner take my hand**

**Or if you want to strike me down in anger**

**Here I stand**

**I'm your man'**

_She smiled. It had been known on more than one occasion for her to strike her partner in anger._

**'If you want a boxer I will step into the ring for you**

**And if you want a doctor I'll examine every inch of you'**

_Both lines held memories for them. Harry laughed quietly._

**'If you want a driver climb inside**

**Or if you want to take me for a ride you know you can**

**I'm your man'**

_Harry was now finding the song strangely seductive, the deep, brooding voice holding her captive. Dempsey's hands were lightly caressing her buttocks in a casually provocative motion._

**'Ah, the moon's too bright**

**The chains too tight**

**The beast won't go to sleep'**

_She gave him a sidelong smile._

**'I've been running though these promises to you**

**That I made and I could not keep**

**But a man never got a woman back, not by begging on his knees'**

_It was Dempsey's turn to grin and he gave a sort of shrug._

**'Or I 'd crawl to you baby and I'd fall at your feet**

**And I would howl at your beauty like a dog in heat**

**And I would claw at your heart**

**And I'd tear at your sheet**

**I'd say please, pleeeease**

**I'm your man'**

_A haunting, instrumental section followed. Harry looked up into Dempsey's eyes and made a single, low note of laughter in her throat. The lines somehow seemed remarkably personal._

**'If you've got to sleep a moment on the road**

**I will steer for you**

**And if you want to work the street alone**

**I'll disappear for you'**

_Harry laughed delightedly at what could possibly be a reference to their undercover work._

**If you want a father for your child**

**Or only want to walk with me a while across the sand**

**I'm your man'**

_Dempsey tried hard to appear unfazed but it wasn't easy and he found himself looking for some sort of reaction from Harry._

_The song began to fade._

**'If you want a lover I'll do anything you ask me to ...'**

_Harry tilted her head. "Well, that was ... interesting."_

"_Kinda funny though."_

"_Mmm. Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?"_

_Dempsey smirked. "Whatever you want it to be I guess."_

"_Mmm," she said again, wriggling slightly in his arms this time._

"_What?"_

"_It gave me goosebumps." She stared directly into his eyes, the blue of her irises appearing navy in the dark of the club. Her lips were full and heavy with desire._

"_You know somethin'?" he asked._

"_What?"_

"_I want you so bad right now."_

_Her mouth hooked at the corner. "Then have me."_

"_Yeah," he began to fantasize. "Right here on the dance floor. I'll just hitch your dress up a little, run my hand up your thigh ..."_

"_Outside."_

"_What outside?"_

"_There are fire exits that must lead out somewhere," she told him, her fingertips delicately brushing against his nipples through the front of his shirt._

"_Yeah," he said slowly, not sure he was understanding what he was hearing._

"_There'll be a back alley," she expanded, "with dark doorways." She widened her eyes meaningfully._

_Dempsey looked at her askance. "I'm pretty sure you ain't suggesting what I think you're suggesting."_

_Her eyes glittered mischievously. "Maybe you'd better think again."_

"_You're serious?"_

_She nodded._

"_We got that huge great bed of yours waitin' for us at Winfield Hall."_

"_It'll still be there when we get home."_

_He frowned roguishly. "I'm startin' to wonder if maybe you have a recognised medical condition, Makepeace."_

"_So am I," she breathed. "Although strangely, I only seem to be effected when I'm around you."_

_Dempsey watched her lips as she spoke, transfixed by their softness, their fullness. He wanted to feel those lips on his skin._

"_So are we slipping out for a moment?" she asked impatiently._


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"Alright, Mum?" asked Ed.

It took Harry a few seconds to respond. "Sorry, what did you say, darling?"

"I was just saying, is everything alright? You're well-quiet."

"Am I?" she asked brightly, knowing full well her mind had been elsewhere for some time. "No, I'm fine. Anyway, you're up early. Have you got plans?"

"Mum, I've just been telling you," Ed laughed, exasperated, "me and Lydia are going to Thorpe Park with a few of the others."

Harry shook her head as though to clear away the cobwebs. "Sorry, I know, of course you did."

She got up and threw half a mug of cold coffee down the sink before rinsing it out.

"Heavy night, was it?" Ed grinned. "You're looking a bit rough."

"Thanks!"

"So who's this bloke again?"

"Who?"

Ed made a face. "urrgh! The one you were out with again last night ... you know, the one you've been seeing?"

Harry tried to concentrate aware she wasn't acting quite normally. "Sam? His name's Sam Tate."

"Yeah, Sam."

"I wasn't out with him last night," she said distractedly. "I went to see a friend."

Ed laughed. "That explains the hangover then. How many bottles did you get through?"

"I haven't got a ... I didn't drink very much."

He watched her fill the kettle and take a jar of instant coffee from the cupboard. She was still wearing her long grey jersey dressing gown along with last nights make-up.

"Mum, has something happened?" he asked anxiously.

She laughed that off. "Don't be silly. Like what?"

"You're being weird."

She gasped, casting him a sideways smile. "You're weird all the time but I manage to refrain from comment, Edward."

"You'd tell me, wouldn't you – if something was wrong I mean?"

"Oh, darling." It was unusual for her son to express such concern and she was touched. "There's nothing wrong. Really, I'm fine."

Dumping his cereal bowl on the side of the sink, he nudged her shoulder playfully as he walked past. "I'd better get ready then. Nick's picking me up in half an hour."

Harry took her fresh cup of coffee back to the table and stared fixedly at the print of an Italian cobbled street on the opposite wall. She had first visited that street at five o'clock that morning but was yet to actually see it. She had slept fitfully for a few hours and then finally given in around dawn to come downstairs and let several cups of coffee go cold. Inside, she felt a bleak greyness that moved restlessly, never settling in one place but still heavy as lead. She desperately needed to purge herself of it, wanted to feel normal again but knew it wasn't going to happen, she couldn't do it on her own. Every time the greyness rose up as a palpable mass she battled it back down and felt it twisting a little tighter about her core, wringing quiet, almost unnoticed tears from her eyes.

How was it going to be possible to rid herself of him now – now she knew what she'd done to him? Even if she never saw him again, that pain would remain with her. She had blighted his life, that's what his friend had said. What sort of person did that make her? Her perception of that person was of a cold, manipulative, morally corrupt woman lacking in both scruples and feelings. Harry knew she wasn't describing herself so how had she managed to cause such ruination in Dempsey's life? If she had stayed longer last night, would it have become clearer?

At eight o'clock, Ed struck his head around the door to say goodbye on his way out.

"See you later then Mum. Don't bother with dinner or anything – don't know when I'll get back."

Harry stood. "I'll probably be out myself anyway."

"Oh, yeah – Sam the man."

"Go!" she commanded with a smile.

Ed went and Harry eyed the clock. Even if she wasn't keen on the idea of breakfast, she knew someone who would be and so taking clean dishes from the cupboard, she proceeded to set out food for Magus, her black Bombay cat. With that sixth sense peculiar to cats, within moments of placing the food on his mat on the floor by the back door, there came the rattle of the cat flap and the sleek, muscular animal appeared.

"Hello, my handsome boy," she said, stroking the back of his head and fondling his ears as he ate, enjoying the sound of his loud purr.

At the strident tone of the doorbell, Harry physically jumped. For several moments she stood immobile, her heart clenching and unclenching wildly in her chest.

_Oh God! What if it was him? It was, wasn't it? It was Dempsey, here for an explanation or to explain to her exactly what last night had been all about._

She scraped her fingernails through her un-brushed hair and pulled her robe about her more securely. She knew she looked a mess and frantically tried to erase any eye make-up that might have slid down her face. There was a small decorative mirror on the wall out in the hallway and she hesitated before it. It was even worse than she'd thought! Her hands slapped furiously at her cheeks, trying to pound some colour into her dull complexion. Once upon a time she used to get away with him turning up on her doorstep at an uncivilized time of the morning.

The doorbell sounded again and she turned away from the haggard reflection.

Once upon a time she used to wake up next to him and he'd tell her she looked beautiful.

_Oh, for heaven's sake! What was she going to say to him? She could scarcely think straight!_

But as she approached the front door, she saw the outline of a masculine profile through the coloured glass. Her visitor was standing on the top step, peering in.

Wearily, she opened the door to Philip Cavanagh.

"Ah, Phil. You're bright and early," she greeted somewhat testily.

Without waiting to be invited, he crossed the threshold and as usual, insisted on planting a kiss on her lips.

"Morning, darling."

She followed him through to the kitchen.

"Is there something you wanted, Philip?"

He shot his cuff to check his watch. "A cup of tea would be nice."

"Actually, I'm running rather late," she lied.

He seemed to suddenly notice she was still in her nightclothes.

"Not like you. Feeling a bit delicate are we?

Harry crossed her arms over her chest. "No, we're not. I just overslept."

Phil put his hands in his trouser pockets and leaned against the table. "That's not a euphemism is it? I haven't interrupted anything?" He tilted his eyes to the ceiling. He was trying to pass it off as joke but she could tell it was an actual concern for him.

"Don't worry," she assured him, "neither one of them has to rush off just yet."

Yes, she knew it was cruel but he wound her up, dropping in on her like this all the time. It felt like he was keeping tabs on her. The excuse that he was wanting to see the kids had hardly been applicable for a good three or four years now and they both knew it.

Phil smiled uncomfortably.

"So what did you want again?" she queried lightly.

"Errrm ... I came for a word with Ed, though I don't suppose he's up yet. I thought I'd catch him on my way to work.

"You've missed him I'm afraid. He's out for the day."

"Ah. I just wanted to tell him Ross says he can borrow the camping equipment for that festival he's going to."

Harry frowned in mock puzzlement. "Surely you could've told him that on the phone."

She'd been trying to decide what it was that was different about him. He'd had his hair cut but also, he'd had it dyed! The realisation made her actually want to smile.

"I could have," he conceded, " but as I haven't seen him for a while, I thought I'd show my face. It isn't a problem is it?"

"Phil," Harry began, "I think I have mentioned before on more than one occasion, that I really don't appreciate these unexpected visits. If you need to see the kids, arrange it with them. I don't need to be involved."

She opened up the dishwasher and shoved Ed's mug and bowl inside. "It isn't like Jay lives here anymore either which means I should hardly have to see you at all really but instead, here you are at barely eight o'clock on a Saturday morning," – she violently thrust a knife into the cutlery compartment – "expecting me to make you cups of tea and prying into my love life!"

Harry couldn't look at him. Her minor outburst had been a little blunt but she simply wasn't in the mood to deal with him at the moment.

Phil was silent for so long that eventually she had no option but to turn and face him. He lifted his eyes to her morosely.

"You certainly haven't lost your touch, Harry."

She threw her hands up impatiently. "Well, I'm sorry but what do you expect? We've been divorced for five years and I shouldn't feel I have to keep reminding you of that."

"I never wanted a divorce, you know that. I still care about you a great deal and I won't apologise for it."

Something snapped in Harry. "Care?" she suddenly exploded. "No!" She jabbed a finger towards him. "I don't want you to care, Philip! I really don't want to hear you say that" she shrieked, sounding on the verge of hysteria. "I don't want you to care."

Phil appeared momentarily stunned. "Harry, what on earth's got into you?"

"Can you just go please, Phil?" She was trembling from head to foot, on the brink of tears.

"No, I can't leave you like this!" He went to her but at least had the good sense to refrain from putting his arm around her. Instead, he rubbed his hands briskly up and down her upper arms. "What's wrong, darling, besides me being here that is? You're not yourself, are you?"

Harry quickly collected herself. "You're right. I'm sorry. I had a really bad nights sleep last night, that's all and I've had far too much coffee this morning."

She looked up into his thin, elegant features, smelling the shaving balm he had so recently used. His twinkling hazel eyes were warm, his smile so annoyingly understanding.

"And that's all?"

Those seventeen years of marriage had given him an astuteness that she now found disconcerting.

"That's all," she assured him quietly.

"You know the last thing I'd ever want to do is upset you."

She nodded. "I'm just tired."

"Nothing on your mind you want to bend my ear about?" he cajoled.

The very idea of discussing it with Phil was laughable; she might just as well stick a knife between his shoulder blades.

"No, I'll be fine."

_When? When would she be fine? How long was it going to take to come to terms with everything that had happened last night? There were so many more questions, so much more guilt._

Phil's hands were still holding her arms when he asked, "Does it really bother you so much, my coming over every now and again?"

"Phil," her expression was pained, "we split up for a reason."

"Is that a 'yes' then?"

"If I thought you only wanted us to be friends, I'd probably feel differently – but you don't, do you?"

The answer to that one was all too obvious.

He smiled sadly. "Our marriage was doomed from the start."

Harry was about to speak but Phil silenced her. "I know, I know. I went into it with my eyes wide open; there were never any secrets, at least not between us and I've always been grateful for that."

After kissing her cheek, he gently pushed her away. "Just don't shut me out entirely, hmm?" he asked, an eyebrow raised. "So anyway," his tone reverted to his usual upbeat and jocular style, "I'll give Edward a ring then and sort something out with him."

"Right. Thanks," said Harry appreciatively, following him to the front door.

There was something very formal in the way he moved and always had been. The beautifully tailored suits always fitted his slim, angular frame a little to well and even casually dressed, there was never any margin for error. She had been grateful for that staid and composed bearing when they had first met but now it only served to remind her of what she had given up.

"See you, darling."

"Bye."

Harry closed the door, feeling relief for a moment.

But then she leaned weakly against the wall. "Oh, God, Dempsey!" she cried out in frustration.

* * *

By two-thirty, Sam Tate was signing the very lucrative contract he had just secured. Karen Hammond took the pen he offered and leaning over the coffee table, added her own signature beside his.

"This is my guarantee that Evie will be back from the Caribbean in time. You're not going to let me down, Karen. I've got a lot riding on this."

"Don't worry," her laughter rang out pleasantly. "We'll have her back for you in plenty of time."

"And Kiratina won't be a problem?"

"Sam, I promise you, all the girls will be where you want them, when you want them. Leave everything to me, it's what I'm here for."

He slapped his hand down on the arm of the sofa. "Right. If you'd like to bring your drink along, we'll complete the transaction upstairs," he said with a broad smile.

Karen picked up her handbag from the floor and followed him out of the lounge with her dry Martini in her hand.


	20. Chapter 20

_Chapter 20_

_It was almost like a gentlemen's club, mused the receptionist, covertly watching the small group of males who were occupying the soft seating area._

_There were five of them; three suits and two more casually attired, drinking coffee or fruit juice, thumbing absently through newspapers and magazines. A nebulous haze of smoke hung over the entire area. It seemed not to have dispersed all morning as the men came and went, their number sometimes increasing, sometimes diminishing. Conversations were regularly struck up as each new addition lamented the fact that they had to be there at all but it was mostly good-natured banter and often lead on to deeper discussions._

_A soft, melodic peal from the entrance alerted the receptionist to the couple striding across the foyer, the swarthy, dark-haired gentleman toting several exclusive-looking shopping bags._

"_Good morning, Madam – Sir," she greeted them obsequiously. "Do you have an appointment booked with us?"_

_The beautifully made up woman placed her designer handbag on the reception counter and explained who she was and that she was booked in for her weekly manicure. The receptionist glanced over at 'The Gentlemen's Club'._

"_Of course, Madam. I'll just get somebody to show you through."_

_She pressed the button on the desk and a fey young man by the name of Daniel appeared to convey the woman to the nail bar._

"_My husband will wait for me. Please take care of the bags," she said imperiously._

_The husband, rather a handsome man in his late forties handed over the shopping, the little smile and fleeting eye contact serving as an apology for his wife's high handedness._

"_This I will keep with me," he told her as she tried to take the slim leather briefcase from him. "Every Tuesday morning, I indulge my wife with this shopping and beauty and so to lunch. Whilst her nails are painted, I do a little work and drink the nice coffee that you provide."_

_The receptionist stowed the bags away under the counter. "I'll make some fresh coffee for you right away, Mr Akim."_

"_Thank you. You are new here, yes?"_

"_I started last Wednesday."_

"_Hm." He smiled kindly. "Your face I should not forget, I think."_

_The blonde accepted the compliment with a slight lowering of her eyes and gestured for him to lead the way to the seating area._

_Mr Akim took an easy chair at the side of one of the cream leather sofas, greeting those already seated._

"_May I get you any more drinks, gentlemen?" the receptionist asked._

"_Yeah, I could really make use of a cold beer right now. All this waitin' around kinda puts me on edge." The Yank had evidently been bored since his arrival, judging by the amount of similar wisecracks he had made thus far._

_The receptionist smiled politely. "I'm afraid we don't have a licence to serve alcohol, Sir."_

"_Just messin' with you, babe."_

_The fat man at the side of him, who also seemed to have a big mouth, snorted in amusement._

"_Yes, Sir, I know," she answered pleasantly. "Maybe a fruit juice?"_

"_Somethin' sweet and juicy might just hit the spot," he leered._

_A couple of the suits were looking uncomfortable with his behaviour._

"_A large pot of coffee, my dear," Mr Akim broke in helpfully, "should suffice for the majority."_

_The insufferable Yank, played so admirably by Lieutenant James Dempsey, flopped back into the deep padding of the sofa and tossed the magazine he'd been flicking through onto the table with a loud, listless sigh._

_Harry briefly looked into his eyes and conveyed her understanding of the situation. By playing the fool, the focus was on him, thus diverting any attention away from Akim and Robards, leaving them free to affect the handover._

_Dempsey felt a tingle run through him every time they made that connection. It was like they melded somehow, like they joined together on some astral plane where there was only the two of them existed. Theirs was the perfect partnership and they both knew it._

_Harry left them to arrange the coffee and Dempsey fidgeted some more._

"_She can massage my follicles any time," he grinned, his eyes trailing after her._

_Mr Akim coughed delicately and took some paperwork from his briefcase._

"_Been waiting for your wife long?" asked another of the beauty salon transients, pointedly._

"_Hey, it ain't my wife I'm waiting for," he came back with a non-too subtle wink, "if you catch my drift."_

"_Really," came the unsurprised response._

"_I bet running two cars is a bit expensive, mate?" said the fat man with a chuckle._

"_Hell, yeah," the Yank agreed, "but when you got a Bentley in the garage and then a Lamborghini pulls up alongside. What's a guy to do, huh?" he continued, warming to the theme._

"_Terrible dilemma, I should imagine." He nudged Dempsey in the ribs._

_A few moments later, Harry reappeared from the nook behind the reception, bearing a laden tray._

"_However, if this vision of beauty wanted to park herself on my asphalt ..." Even Dempsey had to cringe at that one but the fat man was lapping it up, laughing raucously._

"_Thank you very much," said Robards, speaking for the first time since Akim's arrival. He was a much older man, surely coming up for retirement and Harry couldn't help but wonder what had possessed him to fall in with this terrorist organisation SI10 had infiltrated. Most likely something would come to light later._

_There were other platitudes expressed as Harry distributed the various items from the tray. She was quick to notice Robards deposit his open folio wallet down on the floor beside the sofa so that it was now in between himself and Akim. A glance at Dempsey confirmed that he too was aware of the move._

"_I'll leave you to serve yourselves, gentlemen."_

"_Is the apple juice mine, sweetheart?" Dempsey asked loudly._

"_Yes, Sir." Harry handed it across to him and he made a big display of gratitude, drawing everyone's attention._

_Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Akim sit forward over the paperwork on his lap before surreptitiously sliding a squarish manilla envelope out of the pile and dropping it into the folio wallet by his side._

_She smiled at Dempsey. "Have you got everything you need, Sir?"_

_He bowed his head as he got to his feet. "I'm more than satisfied, thank you angel."_

_Smoothly, he took his .357 from its holster inside his jacket, at the same time removing a set of handcuffs from a side pocket and tossing them to Harry. _

_He aimed the gun between Akim and Robards. "Police! I think the expression is, 'You're nicked'."_

_There was no question of brazening it out, no indignant protests; both men decided to make a run for it._

"_Ah, Jeez, c'mmon," Dempsey grumbled, using the edge of the table as a springboard to leap towards Robards who was nearest to the door._

_Harry was tussling with the smaller man, Akim and had successfully got both his hands behind his back ready to cuff him when he suddenly threw himself back into her with the full force of his body weight. They both toppled, Akim to one side, Harry straight across the glass-topped table._

_There followed an almighty crack and then a shattering of the glass into many hundreds of glistening shards. Harry screamed out in both shock and agony as glass bit into her flesh and the pot of hot coffee flew up to collide against her legs._

_In those few seconds since Dempsey had shouted 'police', a frenzied panic had taken over; everyone rearing out of their seats in sheer amazement. Now though there was an eerie moment of stillness and quiet._

"_Harry?" Dempsey's voice came out high and broken._

_The woman who had just walked through the entrance door screamed at the sight that confronted her. _

_Robards slipped out._

"_Harry! Shit, Harry."_

_Kneeling in the debris, Dempsey's hands hovered over her prone form, frightened to even touch her._

"_For Christ's sake, somebody call for an ambulance," he yelled._

_Harry opened her eyes with a grimace, moaning loudly as she attempted to right herself._

"_Don't move, baby. Just stay still for a minute, okay?" When she didn't answer immediately, he repeated, "Okay, Harry?"_

_She nodded and several pieces of glass tinkled around her shoulders. "Okay." She swallowed. "Robards and Akim ...?"_

_The mention of his name seemed to galvanize Akim into action and he bolted for the door. Without a second thought and barely looking away from Harry, Dempsey lifted his gun and fired a bullet off into the back of Akim's left leg. The man dropped to the ground with a scream of pain and lay writing in agony._

"_Tell 'em to send two ambulances," Dempsey shouted to the woman ringing from the reception desk._

"_What the hell is going on here?" came the panicked demand from the man who had enquired about Dempsey's 'wife'._

_A crowd of patrons had gathered at the entrance to the salon area and it was obvious that a sense of panic was spreading through them._

_Dempsey held his gun aloft but didn't leave Harry's side._

"_Police. There's been an incident but it's under control. Everybody get back in there." He waved them back with the gun. "I said everybody back!" he yelled._

"_You're both coppers?" asked the fat man. "She's a copper?"_

"_Dempsey?" There was fear in Harry's voice and she tried to get up again._

"_No. No, just lie still. What did I tell you, huh?" He looked behind him, yelling, "Where the hell is that ambulance?"_

_Tentatively, he started picking pieces of glass off her face and neck. She was covered in fine scratches and whilst from the front she appeared relatively unscathed, he was scared that she had done some serious damage elsewhere._

"_How you doin'?" he asked gently. "Think you've broken anything?" What concerned him most was the possibility of there being glass lodged deep somewhere, piercing internal organs maybe. He was scared to move her, scared to look. Blood was soaking through her white blouse around her waist, moving slowly up her left side. Her right sleeve had been shredded at the shoulder and upper arm and Dempsey could actually see small slivers of glass embedded in the skin, blood trickling in between._

"_My leg," she winced. "My leg hurts."_

_He immediately moved down her body to look for the source of her pain._

"_Think she got scalded by the coffee," someone said._

_The nylon encasing her lower left leg had melted and shrivelled back, revealing a large patch of livid red skin where the coffee had burnt her. Dempsey felt sick_

"_Yeah, looks like you got a little burnt there, princess. Hey, you've probably got worse sun bathin' in the South of France," he laughed it off._

_They could hear police sirens and the wail of ambulances approaching. Akim was on his feet again and dragging himself towards the door._

"_I'll shoot you down like a dog, Akim. Believe it!" There was a terrible dark anger in his words that caused the man to slump disconsolately against the wall to await his imminent arrest._

"_Dempsey, where's Robards?" asked Harry, earnestly._

"_The one that got away. Don't worry about it, the beat boys'll pick him up sooner or later."_

"_You let him get away? Dempsey, what the hell were you thinking of?"_

_He frowned. "Something kinda came up."_

_The reception was suddenly filled with uniforms and the static of walkie-talkies behind loud, insistent voices._

"_I wasn't going anywhere, was I?" Harry grated._

The continuation to follow in Chapter 21


	21. Chapter 21

_Chapter 21_

_She refused to allow him to travel with her in the ambulance, demanding that he inform SI10 of the situation and ensure that Robards was tracked down and apprehended before he came to the hospital. All this he accepted, knowing she was right and knowing she was angry with him for letting his feelings for her take precedence. By the time Henry Robards was safely in custody for the passing of sensitive Home Office information to a member of a Middle Eastern terrorist network, it was early evening._

_To Dempsey's surprise, Spikings was coming out of Harry's hospital room when he turned into the corridor._

"_Didn't know you were visiting, Boss."_

_Spikings eyed him with displeasure. "I've already read your statement, Dempsey and I thought it would be prudent to hear the real version of events from Makepeace."_

"_Hey, on my life, Chief, it's all there, nothin' missed out, no embellishments, exactly as it went down."_

_He wondered where Spikings was going with this. "Why, what's she said?"_

_Spikings smirked. "She's not happy with you, son," he smiled wickedly, "is she?"_

_What was that wink for? Was he saying something with that wink?_

"_In fact, I would go so far as to say that Lady Harriet is outraged." Spikings was grinning now._

"_Outraged?" Dempsey repeated, warily._

"_Incensed, even." Pure delight seemed to smooth out every wrinkle in Spiking's face._

"_Incensed is worse than outraged?"_

_The Chief nodded. "Oh yes. Yes, it is."_

"_And this is because I let Robards go?"_

_Spikings rocked on his heels contentedly, his hands behind his back. "Not only did you let Robards go, Dempsey, you had the temerity to let your primitive macho instincts come to the fore, thus undermining her value as a police officer, your partner and as a woman."_

"_I did all that? That's pretty impressive," Dempsey said flippantly, his eyes wide._

"_Apparently."_

_Lieutenant Dempsey squeezed his lips nervously with his fingers for a moment, his mind running over what awaited him in the hospital room. "Right."_

_A finger broke free to point at the door. "She's okay though – otherwise?"_

_Another slick smile. "I gather it was quite a lengthy and painful process, removing the glass from her ... various areas. But you can rest assured, Lieutenant, Sergeant Makepeace is in fighting spirits."_

_Dempsey could still hear him chuckling to himself when he reached the end of the corridor._

"_That's great. Thanks, Chief," he called after him._

_Spikings had woven his magic and now Dempsey stood before the door with a sense of trepidation. Should he knock? There was nothing this lady had got that he hadn't seen but seeing it when she was – what had Spikings said – 'incensed', that was a different matter._

_He rapped lightly, feeling the compulsion to clear his throat too. He waited. No response. He started to sweat. Just as he raised his fist to knock again, Harry called out, "Please come in."_

_Oh boy, this broad knew how to work him over!_

_He walked in, finding Harry sitting up on pillows in a pink hospital gown, bits of sticking plaster on her bare arms and neck._

"_And how's my princess?" he gushed, kissing her with propriety on her cheek. "I couldn't bring you nothin' 'cause I've come straight from the factory and also the cemetery was shut." He winked. " But I stopped off at your place and picked up some stuff I thought you'd need." Opening up the plastic carrier bag he'd brought, he held up a toothbrush. "Hah?" He grinned, pleased with himself. Reaching in again, he came up with a hairbrush. "Hah?" He was quite proud of his thoughtfulness. "And..." he pulled out her see-thru ivory lace and chiffon nightgown and matching negligee. "I like you in this, you look real hot in it." He laid them across the foot of the bed with the other items and didn't see the expression of disbelief on Makepeace's face. "And I knew you'd want a change of clothes but I wasn't sure what to bring." He produced a pair of jeans and her magenta cowl neck knitted jumper – it was the middle of July and had been twenty-five degrees outside that day._

"_Underwear?" she asked, calmly._

"_What?"_

"_Did you bring me any underwear?"_

_Harry wasn't sure why she was bothering to ask – the answer was fairly obvious._

_He seemed to be contemplating his reply though. _

"_Well now, that's a funny thing. Considering how your underwear is often so uppermost in my thoughts, you'd think I woulda remembered a spare pair of panties, huh?" He shrugged, sheepishly. "I'll stop by first thing, okay?"_

"_And my handbag? I suppose it's still behind the desk at the salon?"_

"_Unless some low-life has already lifted it, yeah. I'll pick it up on the way to your place."_

_She wasn't looking at him but the slightly peeved expression she wore was telling him he should take cover._

"_So Spikings told you we got both Akim and Robards banged up?" he asked, deciding to hit the ground running. "They picked Robards up near Scotch Corner. Some story 'bout wanting to get to Edinburgh to say goodbye to his mother before he was put away. How old must his mother be ... like a hundred or somethin' huh?_

_He ran out of steam at that point and sat down cautiously on the edge of the bed. Harry was gazing at the wall beyond, hands folded in her lap._

"_You okay, Harry?" He tilted his head, the better to look into her eyes. "Honey?"_

_Oooh, big mistake._

"_You buggered up the job, Dempsey," she said flatly._

_He smiled nervously. "You know, I've told you before Harry, I wish you wouldn't use that word around me. It has certain connotations for we Americans and I think it maybe has more impact for us than for you Brits."_

_She turned to face him then. "I'll give you buggering 'impact'," she told him heatedly._

"_Would prefer it if you didn't," he winced._

"_I'm being serious, James!"_

"_You are?" He feigned shock._

_It was sometimes easier to just ignore him._

"_Whilst I was lying in the remains of that coffee table, suffering from mild shock, Doctor Isaacs has told me, I actually wasn't waiting for you to come and pick me up in your arms and pull out every last shard of glass with your teeth – I was busy thinking that I'd probably managed to put the whole operation in jeopardy but it would be alright because my partner was there to cover for me." She paused, still looking straight ahead. "But then I find that my partner has disappeared and my bloody boyfriend has turned up, whispering hackneyed platitudes and waving my partner's gun around like a maniac." She finally turned to him with a withering expression. "You shot Akim in the leg without a single verbal warning for God's sake!"_

"_Who did, me or your boyfriend? You're confusing me here, Makepeace."_

"_You tell me who it was! All I know is that only Lieutenant Dempsey was supposed to be there today."_

_Dempsey got up, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets and began to wander aimlessly about the small room. "Trouble is Harry, I ain't two people. I'm just one guy who's finding it real hard to love you to a schedule."_

_Harry played with some strands of her fringe. "This isn't working is it?"_

"_It's working fine. You just need to loosen up for Christ's sake!"_

"_Well if '_you'_ get any looser, we'll both wind up dead!"_

_Dempsey yanked her medical chart from the end of the bed and scanned it sightlessly. "You want a new partner, Makepeace? If I'm not up to the job anymore, you may as well try your luck with some other poor schmuck."_

"_You know that isn't an option," she told him quietly._

"_Why? Why isn't it?" he barked. "Come on – explain it to me. I need to know."_

_He was in her face and angry as hell._

_She gave a grunt of frustration. "Because we're good together, damn it, we work well together."_

"_So which is it Harry, are we working or not working?"_

"_Well it obviously isn't that black and white, is it?" she bit back sarcastically._

"_It is for me."_

"_You let Robards go!"_

"_So what? We got him in the end didn't we? And even if we didn't, better than havin' another partners blood on my hands."_

_Harry slapped him hard across the face. "Don't you dare, you bastard!" she cried but then twisted away slightly with a gasp._

_Holding a hand to his reddening cheek, Dempsey glared down at her. "What?"_

"_I think I might've burst some stitches," she grimaced._

"_That's just great," he glowered. "I'll go get the doctor – he can take a look at my face while he's at it."_

_Harry sat forward gingerly. "Just have a look will you," she said irritably, her fingers reaching behind her to pull apart the back of the hospital gown. Dempsey bent forward to see. Her back was a canvas of thin red lines, criss-crossing in torturous random patterns. He pulled back, unable to keep in the murmur of distress that rose to his lips._

"_Doctor Isaacs says it's nowhere near as bad as it looks," Harry told him. "Most of its surface wounds that'll heal in a few days."_

_When he made no move she tutted and pulled the gown down a little off her shoulders. "The bottom of my back, left hand side. Can you check under the dressing – if it isn't too much trouble?"_

"_Look," he objected, "maybe I should get a nurse to do that."_

"_Not like you to be squeamish, Dempsey."_

_He wasn't about to be accused of wimping out and so carefully peeled away the rest of the gown that obscured her lower back and discovered a large, rectangular pad of gauze and adhesive tape. Easing the tape off at one corner, he managed to lift it away from the skin. He felt a minor jolt go through her that channelled through his own body. "That hurt?"" he asked in alarm._

"_Of course it bloody hurts, Dempsey – I've had fourteen stitches. I just want you to tell me if they're all still intact."_

_He took a deep breath. "Gotta say this hospital gown really isn't a good look for you."_

"_You don't say."_

_Getting down on his haunches, he examined the wound at eye level. He gave a low whistle. "That's one helluva cut, Harry. Did it go deep?"_

"A_n inch or so."_

"_Sorry about that jibe I made before – the partner thing– it was low."_

"_Does it look alright?"_

"_Depends what you mean by 'alright'." He ran two fingers alongside the line of stitches with infinite gentleness. "Doesn't look like you've ruptured anything."_

"_Sorry I hit you."_

_His fingers slid further up her back and he rose to sit beside her on the bed, never losing contact with her skin. "When do you get discharged?"_

"_Probably tomorrow. They have to do another glass sweep first though apparently, to make sure they've got it all out."_

_He could've lost her today – she could literally have died if a piece of that glass had struck deep enough. And it had just been a stupid accident; she hadn't been shot or knifed or run down or blown up or any of the other methods by which the bad guys despatched the good guys – it had been simple fate. So how was he supposed to protect his partner from that too? With an unconscious shudder, he replaced the dressing before dropping a soft kiss on her shoulder and re-fastened the Velcro edges of her gown._

_Harry gave him a smile before inching down the bed and turning to lie on her right side facing away from him._

"_You'll have to come round this side – it's uncomfortable sitting up for too long."_

_Dempsey laughed quietly. "Spikings mentioned – glass in your ass."_

"_Mmm. I'll admit it would be funny if it wasn't quite so painful."_

_He went and took the chair on that side, shuffling it forward and then dipping down so he could rest his chin on the backs of his hands beside Harry's head. Their faces were scant inches apart._

_Harry gave him a smile. "You haven't kissed me properly yet."_

"_That's 'cause I'm not sure of the protocol."_

"_Protocol?"_

"_Well, this is a hospital which is a public place but then we're alone and you're in bed so ... You see my dilemma."_

_Harry was starting to feel uneasy with this black humour of his. Over the last few weeks it had become a constant presence in their relationship and it felt as though she was battling against it, defending herself and her actions to him on a regular basis. She knew their circumstances weren't ideal but what was the alternative? One or both of them giving up their career in SI10? She could never force Dempsey to choose and she hoped he felt the same. And besides, if that happened, wouldn't it alter their relationship irrevocably? Wouldn't they lose that spark that set them on fire when they were together? Didn't they thrive on the danger; the risks they took together on a daily basis? Without that, surely the relationship would peter out into conventionality, would become the humdrum existence of other couples. And what they had was good; the secrecy added an extra dimension, it built up a longing sometimes that became a subtle desperation and the sating of it a beautiful phenomenon. Yet James seemed to think they were missing out on something vitally important. They didn't kiss in public of course and they had to be careful not to discuss their domestic arrangements within earshot of others but ... Leading up 'til the time of them becoming lovers, they had flirted outrageously with each other and Harry could now see that she actively discouraged that these days. She couldn't help it, even though this change in their behaviour was in itself suspicious, she just couldn't cope with that type of social interaction between them. It felt as though they were crossing over the fine line they trod._

"_Just kiss me," she told him softly and he obliged, pressing his mouth to hers with great tenderness._

"_Think you're in need of some T.L.C, princess."_

_Harry rolled her eyes with an indulgent smile. "Go on then, I'm listening. What's T.L.C?"_

_Dempsey was genuinely surprised. "You kiddin'? You never heard of T.L.C?"_

_She shook her head, still half expecting a punch line._

"_Guess it must be a stateside thing." He looked deeply into the cerulean blue of her eyes. "Tender Loving Care."_

_Harry chuckled. "Really? I thought it was going to be some off-colour abbreviation."_

"_I'm sure I can think of a few."_

"_I'm sure you could," she smiled, "but I think we'll stick to the original." He'd have a whole string of them blue enough to make her blush if she allowed him his head. She brought a hand up between them and played her forefinger along his lower lip. "I like it when you 'care'."_

_He caught up her finger in his hand and kissed it. "I've always cared, Princess."_

_Harry could never have imagined in her wildest dreams that she would have fallen so completely in love with a man like James Dempsey. From the moment she had first met him, a burning thread of emotion had run through their relationship, fiery dislike to smouldering desire to this exquisite white heat of love. It was almost frightening, to need somebody this much. He was part of her, they fitted together and she wondered if maybe it was the fact that they were such totally different people, that together they completed some sort of complex human jigsaw._

"_I wouldn't be the same without you," she said, struck by the revelation._

_Her words held no surprise for Dempsey. He understood perfectly._


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

'_Saw you this morning,_

_You were moving so fast,_

_Can't seem to loosen my grip on the past,_

_And I miss you so much,_

_There's no one in sight,_

_And we're still making love,_

_In my secret life.'_

It was just after eleven o'clock on Monday morning.

The softly caressing melody washed through him, the words drowning out the numbers he had in his head. Dempsey sat in the empty bar, his laptop on the table in front of him, the sound system playing what was meant to be a chill-out playlist. It certainly wasn't having the intended effect at the moment. He leaned back in his chair, slewed to one side and fiddled with the biro he held in his fingers. He couldn't concentrate; he wasn't interested in these spreadsheets at the best of times but right now, they seemed to make about as much sense as ... as this predicament he was in with Harry. Thanks to Julius (who he had barely given the time of day to over the weekend), Harry was probably wishing she'd left the past well alone. He'd really wanted to do some serious damage when he'd finally got back to their table on Friday night to find Harry gone and Julius with a face that could curdle milk. What the hell had his so-called friend been thinking of? Even his own mother would never have dared to interfere like that!

The 'discussion' that followed in the private yard out back had seen the two men at loggerheads for the next half hour. At one point, Dempsey had stormed back in to wrestle Gavin's cigarettes from him and goaded Julius by chain-smoking the three cigarettes that were left in the packet.

After Julius had tried every logical argument he could come up with and been met with only a stubborn refusal to listen to reason and persuasion, he had resorted to threats. If he wanted Harry Makepeace so bad, he could have her but he, Julius, wouldn't be around to see it. Dempsey agreed he should go back to Jersey, or New York or whatever the hell distance it took to keep him out of his business. He knew perfectly well that Julius didn't deserve the kind of furious tirade Dempsey had metered out but there was just no possible way that he could forget about Harry now – hadn't he been trying for the last twenty-odd years?

He'd probably never see Harry again now anyway. He could go to her place, humiliate himself, embarrass her and then be shown the door? He didn't have her number so he couldn't phone. Maybe a little light stalking? Yeah, he could probably stoop to that. He couldn't believe how he'd so wilfully messed things up on Friday night. Leaving her on her own like that whilst he frightened her off with ... 'the singing ... and the playing the guitar'. He smiled, remembering how that had brought them together in laughter for a moment. But he should have picked a quieter night when they could have sat together and talked; an act on the stage to watch should the need have arisen to fill any awkward gaps in the conversation. Too late now ... always too late.

Dempsey slumped down in his chair, staring with unseeing eyes at the laptop screen, repeatedly knocking the pen down on the table-top, end over end, end over end. They'd been okay on Friday hadn't they? Nervous, both real nervous. It'd actually been better on Monday at Harry's. Their first meeting in twenty three years had actually been more relaxed than Friday night! What an idiot he'd been. Why hadn't he taken the time to get to know her again – for her to get to know him? He hadn't even had to tell her about the band for weeks but he'd gone wading in, thrown everything at her including that schmaltzy silver spoon. He could've done it all so differently.

But he just needed her to be somewhere in his life again.

"Boss?"

"Yeah," he growled.

End over end, end over end.

"You got a visitor," Jill told him timidly.

"I ain't home."

"Are you busy?" asked Harry quietly.

Dempsey sat up sharply to see Jill standing over by the archway, Harry a little behind her.

"No ... and I'm actually home," he joked, even though he couldn't manage to pull his facial muscles together to form a smile. He got up, the pen dropping from his fingers to fall across the table and onto the wooden floor.

The stared at each other.

"I'm glad you came back.

Harry was painfully aware of Jill's presence and stood tongue tied, smiling weakly.

"Okay, so I'll be setting up the bar." Jill indicated vaguely towards the bar.

They were alone now but neither one knew how to start.

"Just been sittin' here thinkin' I wasn't ever gonna see you again," Dempsey said honestly, "and now here you are!" He laughed nervously.

She'd had it all rehearsed; what she would say if she came face to face with Julius Bell again, the message she would leave if Dempsey wasn't around, her cool and calm opening lines to him if he was ...

"Yes," she rasped after too long a pause.

They had started to approach each other but had come to a halt six feet apart. It was the most bizarre feeling for both of them; to be somehow aware of an invisible, uncrossable line, a definable barrier that crackled and throbbed like a thin sheet of static electricity.

Harry's arms crossed over her body to grasp her upper arms, creating another barrier. With a conscious effort she forced them down in front of her and twined her fingers together.

"Getcha somethin'?" Dempsey asked hopefully. "Tea? A coffee?"

The aroma of fresh coffee from the machine behind the bar permeated the air, comforting and inviting and yet Harry couldn't sit and drink coffee with him, not until after she'd managed to get out some of the things she needed to say.

She shook her head. "No, nothing thank you." She took a step closer, rubbing the balls of her palms together anxiously. "I just wanted to say ... I wanted to say I'm sorry - for the other night, for leaving like I did."

"Hey, who could blame you?" The sheer relief was evident in his voice. "I gather Julius came on a little strong. I wanna apologise for him and for subjecting you to all that razzamatazz – you know, the band, on stage – must've been a shock."

"I've had worse shocks in my life, it has to be said." Harry took another step nearer. "Dempsey, I didn't know things were so bad for you in New York ... I had no idea until your friend told me."

She was almost close enough for him to reach out and touch – and he wanted to so badly.

"I've an idea he might've exaggerated," he said carefully, his chest tight, all his senses alert.

Harry could hardly bare to look him in the eye, so afraid of the truth that would be in them. "Why would he do that?"

"I ... " he faltered. "Okay, so I was having a tough time back then. He probably remembers it better than me," he laughed uneasily. "That guy can hold a grudge a long time, ya know?"

He watched her eyes roaming the room, flitting up and down as they misted with tears.

"Hey!" He drew closer.

A tear slipped simultaneously from each eye and her mouth wavered. Bending her head down, she hastily wiped them away. "I'm sorry. I'd promised myself I wasn't going to do this."

That was it, he couldn't hold back any longer and his shaking hands reached out for her. The moment of contact sent a tiny but vivid jolt of energy through both of them and they clutched at each others fingers, bewildered. A single, shuddering sob escaped Harry's lips, causing their grip to tighten as they continued to gaze fixedly at the entwined hands.

"Doesn't matter any more, Harry. Water under the bridge."

She wanted so much for that to be true but it wasn't for her and did he but know it, neither was it for Dempsey.

"I'm sorry," she repeated as more tears ran unheeded.

Without thought, he released his right hand and gently cupped the back of her head, pulling her into him and kissing her forehead. "Don't," he mumbled against her skin. "It's okay."

Harry closed her eyes, leaning forwards to revel in the comfort he offered. With both her hands now clinging to his left, she could feel the furious beating of her heart where they lay wedged under her breastbone.

"Tell me," she whispered."

"Why? Why get into that?"

She laughed and the sound was totally devoid of humour. "Because what happened couldn't possibly be worse than what I've been imagining in my head. I'm a coward looking for absolution, Dempsey."

His cheek moved against the side of her head. "Harry ... look, I just lost it for a while, after that last time we spoke on the phone. I didn't want to believe that was us finished, y'know? I was angry and ... disillusioned, with life in general. I was drinkin' too much and doin' stupid things. I was goin' into work either hung over or still drunk – making' mistakes. Wound up on a charge." He wondered if he could end it there, if she would be satisfied with that information. His hand, encased in hers was aching to inch around her slim waist, to press against the small of her back, having as much of her in contact with his body as was possible. But he had leant a lesson and suffered because of it; you couldn't jump in at the deep end no matter how much you wanted it, it had to happen slowly. This time he had been so lucky, Harry had come back. He wasn't about to rush into anything now. In this last week, he had come to realise that having Harry back was what he wanted more than anything.

He felt her head dip down before she spoke again. "Julius said – implied that you were seeing a doctor."

There was so much tension in her voice, each word as jagged as broken glass.

"Uh huh," he said lightly. "Two, if we're counting. One dispensed the happy pills and the other tried to find out why I needed the happy pills."

He heard her gulp down a mouthful of anxiety and he took his hand from the back of her head to rub reassuringly up and down her back.

"You saw a shrink," she surmised.

"Hey come on," he smiled, "anybody who's anybody has a therapist in The States, everybody knows that."

She nodded. But not James Dempsey, it wasn't his style, certainly not back then. The tiniest whimper escaped as she tried her damnedest not to crack.

"Harry – " he began with mocking good humour, "I wasn't no basket case. No straight jackets and padded cells. I even had a full block of kitchen knives in my apartment to prove it!"

She laughed despondently and he lifted his head up then so he could look into her eyes – but she wouldn't meet his.

"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart," he joked in a ridiculous attempt at a Humphrey Bogart impression, "it wasn't all about you."

Involuntarily, her eyes flickered up. "Your father," she guessed.

"Yeah, the great Michael Dempsey – a man handy with his fists like his father before him and I'll always be grateful they never named me Michael too," he smiled ruefully. "I had what they now like to refer to as 'issues'.

"So you were suffering from depression."

"And paranoia – oh and passive/aggressive tendencies which I always thought made me sound totally psycho," he laughed.

To her surprise and shame, Harry burst into tears.

Having spent the weekend speculating on Julius's words and accurately guessing James' state of mind at that time, to hear James confirming the dark nightmare she had envisaged for him was just too awful.

She let go of his hand and moved back, pressing the back of her right hand against her mouth to stifle the sounds of distress. "I never knew," she moaned. "James, I'm so sorry."

He hadn't expected this reaction. He hadn't especially wanted to tell her but she'd asked and now he almost wished he'd lied.

"Hey, what's this?" he soothed, tentatively squeezing her shoulder.

It would be so easy to put his arms around her now, to hold her as close as the moment demanded.

That strange grey mass that had been building within Harry all weekend had finally exploded and to say she felt foolish would be a gross understatement. A kind of silent hysteria had held her in its fist since she had arrived. To know that he had been so tormented, so haunted ... Despite the damping effect of the intervening years, she knew with certainty that had she known back then, she would have gone to him in New York and maybe, just maybe if she had picked her moment ...

He was steering her to a table, dragging a chair out and pushing her down into it.

"Strong coffee – that's what you need, trust me."

He jogged over to the bar area which over the music, was out of earshot of their conversation. He exchanged glances with Jill who was stooped in front of the chiller cabinet but she only smiled, giving no indication that she had witnessed Harry's tears. Not that she would have commented; Dempsey was close to his staff, they knew him well enough to know that some things he wanted to keep private.

He took the two coffees back to the table and found Harry a little more composed, her elbows on the table, her fingers steepled at her temples. She offered him a quick smile as he placed the cup and saucer before her.

"Drink that down and you'll be as right as ninepence."

It worked. Harry laughed out loud, albeit raggedly, at his use of the quaint English phrase, so alien to his still incredibly American tongue. His accent, as she had pointed out last Monday, had far from faded.

"I've always wondered what was so right about ninepence," he added, watching her take a sip of coffee. "Doesn't sound that great, does it?"

Harry tried to smile. "Thank you for this," she said, glancing down at the cup in her hands.

Dempsey noticed the slight tremor moving across the dark surface of the liquid that matched the tremor in her voice.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Wha'd I tell ya?"

He hunkered forward a little. "So ... where did that come from?"

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head, "just ... emotional overload I suppose. A lot can happen in a week – apparently."

She replaced her cup on the saucer. "I've been thinking about what Julius said all weekend; wondering ... well, wondering how ill you'd been."

Would it seem strange to him – that the past had engulfed her so completely these last forty-eight hours? She couldn't understand it herself, how that dark emotion had welled up inside, as thick and deep as it had been twenty-three years ago.

"Well, I lived to tell the tale." He tried to make light of it. This was obviously painful for her to deal with but ... it was such a long time ago now, could she really care that much what had happened back then?

Harry looked down, clearly still upset. "How long did it last for?"

"Four, maybe five months."

"I just wish I'd know ... I wish you'd let me know."

Dempsey rubbed a knuckle against his brow. "We were through, Harry, I wasn't gonna come beggin' for sympathy." He paused and he could suddenly taste an unexpected bitterness. "Anyway, you'd moved on."

"No, I hadn't," she denied.

"You'd met someone else."

She looked at him, her lips parted but then she looked down again.

There was an uneasy silence.

"I'm assuming it was your future husband – or am I wrong?"

"You're wrong," she smiled too cheerfully.

Dempsey sipped at his coffee thoughtfully for a moment. "Wrong as in there was somebody else before your husband – or wrong as in you lied and there never was anyone?"

Harry sat back in her chair, making it obvious she was uncomfortable with the way the conversation as going. "You said it yourself, it's water under the bridge."

So that was it, she'd lied to finally quash their relationship. For her to tell him she had found someone else had been the final nail in the coffin lid.

Dempsey tried to smile. "Never realised you'd wanted rid of me so bad."

"It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like, Harry?" The pain the stirring of these memories provoked lent a steel edge to his voice that astounded him. "I'm sorry – strike that."

Again, the unpleasant silence until Harry pushed back her chair saying, "I think I need some air."

So she was running away again, thought Dempsey until she added, "Can we go for a walk or something?"

That took him by surprise. "Yeah. Sure. Let me just get rid of this stuff." He indicated the laptop and a couple of folders on the table.

"I'd better make myself presentable."

He had a sudden image of her in his mnid, hiking her dress up and escaping through the lavatory window.

"What?" she asked, seeing the rueful smile on his face.

He shook his head. "Nothing. I might tell you later."

She gave him a half puzzled, half amused look and went to repair the damage.

........................................................................................................................................................................

"I'm sure summers were never this good when I was living in London before."

"Well if they were, I certainly don't remember," Harry agreed.

They had walked down Wadbrook Street and along Charter Quay to Riverside Walk which as the name suggested, afforded them a very fine view of the Thames.

"It must be two years or more since I was last in Kingston," said Harry. "It's a lovely place."

"Yeah, it is. I like living here; it has everything I love about England."

The sun reflected dazzlingly on the water and threw up a white glare on the broad walkway. The bars and restaurants all seemed to have hanging baskets and tubs of brightly coloured flowers, sitting prim and proud around their frontages, creating a charmingly picturesque tableau. Delicious cooking smells were beginning to fill the late morning air as the restaurants and bistros opened their doors to lunchtime trade.

By unspoken consent. They sauntered to the next bench along on the approach to Bishops Hall with Kingston Bridge to their right.

A thought suddenly occurred to Harry. "Should you be here?" His puzzled expression prompted her to explain. "Aren't you needed at your bar? I suppose you open at lunchtime, don't you?"

"They can manage without me."

"You aren't indispensable then."

"I just like to think I am."

Harry smiled.

They sat down side by side, looking out at the river.

"So how'd it go with Sam the Man on Saturday night?"

Exactly what Ed had referred to him as on Saturday morning! Harry turned her head with a wry smile.

"Sorry," Dempsey apologised, "none of my business."

"No, it was a perfectly acceptable question. We went out to dinner followed by the theatre and it was very enjoyable."

It actually hadn't been that enjoyable though not through any fault of Sam's. Her mind had been elsewhere all night and poor Sam had voiced his concerns that it was somehow his fault.

"So did you get a chance to check out his security arrangements?" he asked with more than a hint of lewdness in his questioning.

"Dempsey!" Carelessly, she slapped his arm.

"What?" he defended. "Wasn't that a perfectly acceptable question too?"

No, it wasn't. That was definitely none of your business," she clipped, laughing.

Dempsey moved around so his elbow rested on the back of the bench, his head in his hand and he regarded her profile happily.

"He hasn't set your alarm bells ringing yet?"

"Stop it, Dempsey," she giggled, turning to the side so she was facing him, her hand playfully lashing out again. This time, he caught hold of it as it made contact with his chest and for a brief moment, his fingers caressed hers before they swept away in the natural arc of the motion.

Her touch had left an agreeable burning sensation so that for a few seconds, he could still feel her. Did she even know she was flirting with him, he wondered?

The sheer exhilaration it created within him was startling and again, he was scared he would make a mistake, overstep that mark.

Harry was gazing over to Kingston Bridge, a suggestion of a smile on her lips. She tucked a swathe of hair behind her ear and the sun glinted off her silver chandelier earring.

"Do you think it's too early for lunch?" she asked impetuously.


	23. Chapter 23

_Chapter 23_

_They'd had great trouble parking. Dempsey had finally had to drop Harry at the front of the cathedral and park the Mercedes some distance away on Queen Victoria Street. After walking back, he glanced around the throng of guests slowly filing into the 17th century building and decided Harry had gone in without him. Probably got talking to someone she knew and got swept along with them – she had a habit of doing that. He smiled to himself as he pictured the scenario._

"_Excuse me, Sir? May I ask who you are?"_

_A woman of indeterminate age and heavy make-up thrust a dictaphone into his airspace._

"_I'm, err," he considered his response, "I guess in the general scheme of things sweetheart, I ain't nobody."_

_Noting the interesting trans-Atlantic accent, she smiled encouragingly. "Are you quite sure? Are you here for the bride or the groom?"_

_A photographer came up by the side of the reporter and took a couple of snaps of him._

"_I'm just a friend of a guest of the bride. I'm really not that important." He gave her one of his most disarming grins._

"_Well, if I could just take your name," she tried, "and possibly your number?"_

_Dempsey laughed, his thumb rising to rub against the corner of his mouth. "That's a nice idea but, err, I'm a **real** close friend of the guest of the bride."_

"_Then that's a 'real' shame," the reporter lamented._

"_Isn't it just." He smiled his appreciation of her interest and wandered away to join the back of the queue. The opportunities he passed up these day!_

_The cathedral bells were peeling with an infuriating intensity and he ground his teeth involuntarily, wondering how long he'd be able to stand the noise for. No wonder Harry hadn't wanted to hang around outside. He craned his neck to see if he could spot her anywhere near the front of the queue and noticed a couple of faces he recognised. The Brothers Grimm, Harry called them, a.k.a. Leo and Franco Grimmaldi. They were just a few feet in front of him with only a couple and their small daughter and two elderly ladies separating them. Their father was some Italian Count and according to Harry, being the Anglicised sons of a rich and influential European family was their only occupation. Nice work if you could get it !_

_The line shuffled forward._

"_But I really, really need to go to the lavatory, Mummy," the little girl was complaining._

_There was a heated exchange of words between the parents before the three of them left the line, apparently in search of suitable facilities._

_Dempsey shuffled again, nodding pleasantly to the two old ladies._

"_Oh, I saw the fragrant Lady Harriet a few minutes ago," Dempsey could hear one of the brothers saying, the shorter, stockier one of the two who he thought was Leo._

"_With her bit of rough, I suppose?" This from Franco._

_Dempsey felt a slowly-moving concentric wave of cold got through him._

"_Surprisingly, no. All alone."_

"_Really? Maybe she'd realised her faux-pas."_

"_Or Lord Winfield has realised it for her – put the mockers on it. Must be terribly embarrassing for the family," Leo laughed._

_Dempsey was frozen to the spot in an agony that he couldn't yet define._

"_Course, it is only a rumour that she and the Yank are 'at it'. I believe she's still clinging to the story that they merely work together."_

_Franco Grimmaldi rolled his eyes. "Well she would, wouldn't she but she likes to fight below her weight - it's her 'thing'. Remember that insipid little newshound chap she was running around with for a while? Tom something-or-other. Likes 'em unpolished does Lady Harriet."_

_There was absolutely nothing he could do, standing here surrounded by the elite of all the counties of England, the press and even an unobtrusively positioned van of uniformed police officers that he had noticed on the way in. He clenched his fists convulsively, feeling nauseous._

_Leo Grimmaldi nodded to his brother knowingly. "She's definitely shagging him," and then he laughed, "... mercilessly! You can see it in her eyes."_

_Dempsey stood and listened woodenly as the elderly ladies began to berate the brothers for their disgraceful language and shameful disrespect for the Winfield name._

_When Franco finally became aware of Dempsey, his face flushed and he nudged Leo. The elderly ladies, realising something was afoot, stopped their tirade and looked behind them. Dempsey felt himself turn white with fury. He was on the edge of losing all self-control. He wanted to see their blood and to smell their fear._

_So he walked away._

_............................................................................................................................................................................._

"_Where on earth have you been?" whispered Harry as he slipped into the space beside her in the pew._

"_Sorry."_

_No explanation, no wisecracks – no eye contact._

"_Everything alright?"_

"_Everything's hunky-dory."_

"_So where were you?"_

"_Parking."_

"_For almost an hour?"_

"_Yep."_

_He was spared further questioning by the Bishop welcoming them all to the wedding of Lady Athena Westerby and Paul Thompson-Butler._


	24. Chapter 24

**This is the first of a series of three chapters in the 'now' period. Lunch just seemed to last all afternoon and was going so well it would've been a shame to end it for them any sooner ... lol Hope you enjoy it.**

Chapter 24

"So I look up and this guy is literally hanging outa the window, screamin' like a Banshee and Mrs Vesperman is standin' there behind him smilin' and wavin'," Dempsey had discarded his cutlery for the moment, the better to express himself, "and this old gal doesn't even have her teeth in!"

Harry had her hand clamped over her mouth, in serious danger of losing her last forkful of grilled seabass. Her eyes watered as she tried to hold on to the laughter that was bursting forth, not daring to even attempt to swallow the food.

Dempsey took up the wine bottle, his shoulders shaking and poured out the last remaining drops into Harry's glass. He looked over at her, catching her eye, which produced a loud, internal shriek and they both collapsed into gales of strident laughter. The couple at the next table looked across, amused by their neighbour's undisciplined convulsions. The fresh air and sunshine certainly seemed to be having an uplifting effect.

"Yeah, real sweet old lady," he reminisced, wiping his eyes.

Harry sighed and picked up her wine glass, still laughing intermittently. "You're incredible," she reprimanded softly.

"No one's told me that in a while."

Harry gave him one of her 'up and down' looks and said accusingly, "Mmm, I wonder why."

He just smiled back and she enjoyed the way those brown eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Another bottle?" he asked.

"And how would I get home?"

"We walked."

"I left my car at the bar."

"So you did." He drained his own glass, wondering if he could push it any further but decided against it.

"So, you still a sucker for chocolate, Harry?" he asked instead as he picked up the dessert menu and took his reading glasses from his shirt pocket.

She smiled. "My hips say no but my heart screams that I'm in desperate need of a fix."

He looked over the top of his spectacles. "Ain't nothin' wrong with your hips."

"I think we'll agree to disagree on that," she said archly and then asked him to read out to her what was on offer.

He'd had to do the same when they chose their main course, Harry having forgotten her own glasses again.

"You know, you can do this next time," he scolded, having just read the choices out to her for the third time.

"Next time?" she queried sarcastically. "I think I'll have the French vanilla ice cream with warm chocolate fondant."

Dempsey cocked his head, undecided. "Sounds good but I think I'm goin' for the apple tart. Yeah, you could take me out for dinner one night."

"I've taken you out for lunch!" she protested.

"Nah, this is my turf so I'm takin' you out."

"But it was my suggestion."

"And I always used to appreciate you bein' suggestive with me Harry but I'm not sure that's appropriate at this stage."

She cleared her throat tentatively and re-crossed her legs. No, neither am I," she murmured.

She'd noticed the 'at this stage' and all that it might imply but then immediately wondered if she was reading too much into it.

He looked a little uneasy.

Harry regarded him steadily. "Joking … Jim," with a mocking emphasis on his name.

"Don't call me that," he objected, rolling his head to the side in vexation.

Harry grinned slyly, resting her chin in her right hand. "Isn't that what other people call you?"

"But you never did. Don't think I ever heard you call me Jim."

"That's because you never looked like a Jim to me."

"And I do now?"

"Hmm," her eyes narrowed as she pretended to give the question her consideration. "Not really I suppose," and then added caustically, "and I think the days of Danny Sapalutro have well and truly gone."

Dempsey grinned broadly at the memory. "That's 'Salaputro'."

"Is it?" she asked casually.

"It was the name of my tenth grade math teacher … I ever tell you that?"

"You know, I don't believe you did," she replied with a touch of irony.

"Least it was a little more imaginative than 'Debbie Smith'."

"Ah, but Debbie's chequered past more than made up for the indifferent name."

"I'll bet it did."

There was a pause but neither dropped their eyes from the others.

They were interrupted by the appearance of the 'genuine' French waiter although Dempsey had wondered earlier about the authenticity of the brasserie staff and had tried to get Harry to strike up a conversation with him in French. They gave their order and plates were cleared but within moments, an elegantly suited gentleman holding a wine bottle flamboyantly aloft arrived.

"Monsieur Dempsey!" he cried.

Dempsey was on his feet as the man thumped the wine bottle down on their table and the two of them hugged.

"Long time, no see, Rene."

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I could have organised a special dish perhaps?"

"It was a spur of the moment thing … but the food was just great," he looked down at Harry who was watching with amusement, "wasn't it, Harry?"

"Yes. Yes," she confirmed, "it was delicious."

"I am so glad," he beamed. He turned briefly to Dempsey. "And this very beautiful lady, Dempsey? You are going to introduce us?"

"This is Harry Make …" he began but corrected himself. "Harry Cavanagh – a very old friend of mine. Harry – Rene Renault, the General Manager of this fine establishment."

Rene tutted as he shook Harry's hand. "This American never thinks before he speaks. I know he meant to say, 'the very dear friend I have known for a number of years'."

"He never was very good at tact," she had to agree.

"And 'Harry', the man's name for the beautiful woman! I like this very much for you. Like food, the sweet with the savoury, they marry so perfectly on occasion."

"A very novel way of looking at it," Harry acquiesced.

"Got a way with words, this one," Dempsey interjected as he sat back down.

A group of six or seven people had wandered up to the entrance, pointing out possible places to sit. The restaurant had filled considerably since Harry and James had arrived, it now being lunchtime proper and space was at a premium. Most of the outdoor area where they were seated was already taken.

Rene leant forward between the two of them, holding onto the back of Harry's chair. "Duty calls so I will leave you to enjoy the wine and the rest of your meal and the bill is gone, okay?"

"Ah, now come on, Rene, you can't do that," began Dempsey but Rene simply shrugged and moved off to attend to the new arrivals.

Harry's eyes widened. "And what have you done to deserve that?"

Dempsey shook his head in exasperation. "When I first moved back to the U.K and was starting up the bar, I got a lot of good advice from him. I reciprocated by helping him out with the security here which earned him brownie points with the owners."

"It's rather negated the question of who's to pay," said Harry, laughing.

Dempsey was nonplussed. "Guess this makes me a real cheap date."

Harry hooked her hair back over her ear. "Date? I thought this was lunch with a very old friend."

"It was just an expression!" he defended, pouring himself a glass of wine from the new bottle and placing it back in the centre of the table. He took a sip, raising an eyebrow appreciatively before settling forward into a more comfortable position. He casually tilted the bottle so he was able to read the label.

"Very nice."

Harry watch, disgruntled.

"Do you intend to drink the whole bottle all to yourself?"

"No choice, Princess, you're driving."

He took another mouthful but this time held it in his mouth a moment whilst he enjoyed the flavour.

"The perfect dessert wine; not oversweet, pear, apricot, the smallest hint of lemons …"

"And buying a bar has made you a wine connoisseur now?"

"No but drinking lots of it has," he grinned. "So where were we?"

"You were telling me how cheap you are," she snipped.

"Yeah," he drew out, gazing at her.

How had they managed it, wondered Harry. How had they slipped into their roles so easily? They were comfortable with each other and it wasn't just the wine softening inhibitions, it was more than that. He had always been able to make her laugh like no one else and she had missed that so much over the years. He lightened her – he lightened life for her.

The very French waiter arrived with their puddings.

"You don't have a drink," Dempsey pointed out. "You want a Perrier or somethin'?" he asked with an innocent smile.

"No thanks, I'm fine," she said breezily, nodding confirmation to the waiter.

Harry took up her spoon and delved into her dish of ice cream ladled with warm chocolate.

"Oh, Lord, this is good!" she exclaimed after the first taste.

"Yeah? I can smell that chocolate from over here."

He watched her scoop up another mouthful. "Ah, it's gorgeous!" Her eyes closed briefly in ecstasy.

"I'm reminded of that movie."

"Which?" she asked.

"When Harry Met Chocolate. You might've noticed a slight amendment to the title but that's artistic licence kickin' in."

Harry laughed. "Well, it isn't quite _that _good. And how's yours?"

"Definitely not as good as yours."

"Mmmm, couldn't be." She licked her spoon.

"So you gonna let me have a taste?"

Harry shook her head. "You made your choice," she smirked.

"Just a little taste?" he wheedled.

"Nope. And besides, you've got your wine to console you."

Dempsey, reminded of the glass in front of him took another drink. "Real shame you can't partake, Harry. I think you'd really like this one."

"Yes, alright – no need to rub it in."

He still held the glass. "Fruity, slightly oaky aftertaste …"

Recognising the challenge, Harry skimmed off a thin layer of warm fondant from her ice cream.

"This actually isn't too sickly," she advised him. "Wonderfully creamy." She swallowed it down with an appreciative sigh.

"Creamy! That's right." Another draught of wine. "Kinda mellow."

Harry eyed the bottle before her.

Dempsey sat with his spoon poised.

"The Australians produce some quite good wines these days," Harry commented blithely, screwing her eyes up to scan the label.

"Well, they got the sunshine for it." He leaned forward a little. "I like it when they use real vanilla pods in the ice cream … those little black flecks," he pointed out with his spoon just a couple of inches above Harry's bowl, "it makes all the difference."

"Mmm," She slid another spoonful in, unable to conceal her amusement. "It does." She pushed his hand away subtly.

Their eyes met innocently enough. Dempsey was the first to crack and he turned his head away, grinning, the rasping snigger telling Harry that she'd won.

"Okay, gimme some of that." He thrust his spoon into the confection, loading it on.

"Pig!" Harry reprimanded. A thin, sticky ribbon of chocolate fondant drifted over the table as his spoon withdrew. Then Harry's spoon clattered into the bowl and she grabbed up the bottle of wine, pouring herself a large glass.

"Lush!" Dempsey countered.

"I'll walk it off."

"Maybe I should confiscate your car keys then unless you're plannin' on walkin' all the way home."

Pulling a sarcastic smile, Harry deftly raised her glass in a mock toast.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

They talked and laughed incessantly for half the afternoon until finally, at almost half past three, Dempsey suggested they should maybe head back. The wine bottle had been drained some time ago and Harry had absently wiped clean her pudding bowl with her forefinger.

After using the bathroom, Harry sought out the unfeasibly French waiter to thank him for the excellent service and left a substantial tip on their table as they left the restaurant.

"He was the genuine article," she confirmed, taking Dempsey's arm as they began their stroll back down the river. "His family are from Normandy – he's only been in London a little over a year and …"

"I know," Dempsey grinned. "They're all the genuine article working there … just wanted to hear you speakin' French."

Harry swung away from him, her hand still hooked under his forearm. "You're such an idiot, James!" She laughed incredulously.

"Some detective you'd make! I lived on Jersey for years, remember – you think I wouldn't recognise a phoney French accent?"

"Yes, alright, very good," she conceded and they fell back into step. "Although frankly, I would've thought you'd have grown up a bit by now," she drawled.

"And why would I wanna go and do somethin' like that?"

"Well, I'd assumed that everybody did sooner or later." She gave him a sidelong look. "Obviously I was wrong." They looked at each other then and broke into a mutual smile before both looking ahead again.

Dempsey sighed. "Who woulda thought we'd ever be doin' this again, huh?"

"Until this time last week, I didn't even know if you were dead or alive," Harry pointed out wryly.

The warm sunshine was so soothing and the heat and wine served as a tranquilliser on the senses; a balm to raw nerves and a salve to skin that just wasn't quite thick enough to combat the bitter-sweet sting of emotions.

Tentatively, she asked, "So why now. Why did you choose now to look me up, James?"

"Because my time was up."

"How do you mean?"

"Once I'd tracked you down and then realised I was too scared to actually get in contact, I set myself a six month deadline."

Harry professed herself astounded. "It took you six months to get around to visiting?"

"Five, actually."

"Ooh, brave!"

A loud, electronic ringing cut through the warm, hazy air and Harry realised it was Dempsey's mobile ringing.

"Aren't you going to get that?" she asked when he didn't make any move to answer it.

"Nah."

They continued walking, both listening to the old-style telephone ringtone.

When it stopped, Harry said, "It might've been important."

"Exactly." He turned to her briefly. "I don't want anything to spoil this afternoon."

A little rush of excitement ran through Harry at those words but she quickly checked herself. She couldn't feel like this, it was ridiculous, like a silly young girl making a meal out of the crumbs of affection thrown her way. And it wasn't real anyway – the alcohol was just doing its job for both of them.

His mobile began ringing again.

"Answer it," she urged.

Dempsey took the phone from his right hand trouser pocket and Harry saw the sardonic expression as he read the caller i.d.

"Yes, Julius."

Harry's arm unhooked from Dempsey's. He didn't seem to notice.

"Yes, I am," he frowned, "but then I think you already knew that." A pause. "When I feel like it! What, you can't manage without me now?" He sounded agitated. "Tell you what, we'll call it a day off, okay? I'm takin' the rest of the day off." His face seemed to darken as he listened again. "Yeah, well you don't know her or you wouldn't even think that, pal," said Dempsey, bitterly. "We'll talk about this later, okay?"

He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. "Sorry about that."

"He doesn't think very much of me, does he?"

"He doesn't know you."

"Neither do you."

It was said as much to hurt herself as him, to keep a distance between them, a denial of what she was so frightened could be happening between them again.

"You changed so much, Harry? I hadn't noticed."

She didn't respond.

"See, I told ya I shouldn't of taken that call," he said softly.

They were both aware of the change in atmosphere and walked along in silence for a time. As they neared a small precinct of boutique style shops, Dempsey noticed Harry looking and so suggested they go over and browse.

Gradually, the mood began to lighten until outside the entrance of The Whimsical Chocolatier, they broke into quietly restrained laughter at the sight of two outsized American tourists vying to get through the door at the same time.

Dempsey's fist lightly punched the air as one of the women finally burst through. "Yeay! Go cousin!"

Harry dragged his arm down reprovingly, giggling all the same. "Shut up, James," she whispered close to his ear.

"They've gone in to ask for day passes," he joked, his arm around her waist.

"You're so rude!" But she was grinning as she said it.

Suddenly, she realised that she was leaning up against him and she pulled away quickly.

"Come on then, before I'm tempted too," and she set off again.

The window display of the next shop along drew them both in. There was everything from pretty objet d'art items to several large and unusual pieces of furniture. The moved slowly along, pointing things out to each other; a carved stone demon creature, a patchwork throw, a collection of hand thrown pottery pieces, a couple of pretty watercolour paintings, a series of notable jewellery pieces.

"I always feel terribly guilty even looking at this sort of thing," Harry mused, pointing at a silver and amber bangle. "My ex-husband managed to brain-wash me over the years into thinking that anything that doesn't bear a twenty-four carat hallmark is just trash."

"He's a jeweller, right?"

"Mmm. I've got a ridiculous amount of stuff that I hardly ever wear and he still insists on giving me a new piece for my birthday and Christmas each year. I've started rebelling though," Harry smiled, pushing back her hair to reveal one of the very long, dangly silver chandelier earrings, "and Philip hates it so the more avant-garde the better as far as I'm concerned."

"Clingy ex?"

"Not clingy exactly, just ... thinks he has every right to be in my life for some reason. Gosh, look at that!" Harry exclaimed, gazing at the full length, ornately framed mirror in the centre of the window.

"Wow!" Dempsey agreed. "Now that is beautiful. Looks like it may be pewter work."

They stood before it, their own reflections smiling back at them. They looked like a couple; Dempsey's hand resting on her shoulder, Harry's head turned ever so slightly, listening as he spoke. They both stared, transfixed by the image.

"That's really somethin'," he murmured, reverently.

"Bet the price is really something too. Note the price tag facing away."

"I'd guess at six hundred."

"I'd guess it's more."

Dempsey squeezed her shoulder. "Only one way to find out."

"You're not serious though?"

"Sure I am. I've got just the spot for it at home."

He ushered Harry ahead of him through the door and they were met with a pleasant powdery vanilla scent emanating from the nearby table display of soaps, colognes and drawer liners.

They wandered around for a few minutes, examining the various trinkets and laughing when they admitted to each other that they didn't feel they could trust themselves to touch anything breakable.

They came to a shelf holding a collection of large cloth cat doorstops.

"Oh, they're adorable!" Harry enthused, picking one up and weighing it in her hands. "Look at his little eyes," she told Dempsey in a coochee-coo voice, holding it up for him to get a closer look.

Dempsey laughed. "Looks like that kitten we found. Whatever happened to him?"

"Doofus."

"Yeah, yeah, that was it, Doofus."

"We had him for over sixteen years."

"Good old Doofus, huh?"

Harry looked down fondly at the cloth cat she held. "Yeah. He was a nice cat."

They continued to browse for a while longer until Dempsey left Harry to go and enquire about the mirror. It didn't really matter what figure the shop owner placed on it – he'd already decided he wanted it but as it turned but, Harry had been correct in thinking six hundred was underestimating it. He was quoted a sum just under a thousand pounds. Dempsey handed over a credit card and leaned on the desk. "I'll take one of those cat doorstops as well – the black and white one," he said quietly. "We'll take that with us and I want the mirror delivered to this address." He picked out a business card from his wallet. "This is my home address so can you call me on the mobile number before you bring it and I can arrange to be there."

The transaction was completed and the man went to the storeroom to fetch a bagged doorstop.

"You were right, Princess," said Dempsey, sidling up to Harry as she perused a selection of dried flower bunches.

"About?"

"They look pretty dead," he frowned. "I don't get why people would wanna buy dead flowers."

"They're not _just _dead, they're dried. So what was I right about?"

"The mirror – it was nine-fifty."

"Oh, bad luck."

"You done here?"

"Ready when you are."

The shop owner came up to her then and handed over a navy and beige manilla carrier bag containing Dempsey's purchase. "Here you are, Mrs Dempsey," he smiled.

"What's this?" she asked in surprise.

"A gift from your husband."

"Ah, well, we ain't married," Dempsey corrected him, and then to Harry, "It's Doofus."

Ignoring Dempsey for the moment, she looked to the shop owner, smiling broadly, her eyes alight. "We're very old friends," she told him." She caught the cheerful wink from Dempsey.

Outside in the sunshine, Harry reached up and kissed his cheek. "That was very nice of you – thank you."

"No problem."

"How did he know your name?"

"Had to give him my details for the delivery."

Harry smirked. "Don't tell me you bought the mirror, James?"

They were standing in front of the shop window again. Dempsey pulled her in front of the mirror and slung an arm around her shoulders. "How could I not?"

Harry crossed her arms over her chest, looking his reflection in the eye.

"I mean, come on, Harry, how can you resist somethin' like that?" He looked right back at her, his eyebrows raised.

She knew exactly what he was driving at but wasn't about to pass comment on how good they looked together. She found him extremely attractive in his white linen shirt, the dark navy cotton trousers ... the disarming smile, and she had to fight the compulsion she had to turn within the circle of his arm and put her arms about his neck. She wondered how he would react if she kissed him. Would he be surprised? Shocked? But it wasn't going to happen she reassured herself, no matter how many bottles of wine she drank – or how much she wanted to.

"Come on, Rockerfeller." She jerked her head to the right. "I can't believe anyone would pay a grand for a mirror!"

"A mirror?" he exclaimed in mock horror. "I thought I was buyin' an oil painting!"

"Ever thought about adding stand-up to your repertoire?" She pulled away from him and began walking, arms still folded and the carrier bag bumping against her hip where it hung at her side. Harry could feel his eyes on her and knew he was appraising her body.

"Hey, Harry!" he called after her.

She turned, walking slowly backwards now. "What?"

Dempsey's heart somersaulted. _Oh boy, she still did that thing – that thing with her lip, it lifted just a little at the corner when she played the condescending flirt with him._

"You not walkin' with me now?"

She hardly trusted herself to but she stopped and waited for him to catch her up the few steps. If he put his arm around her again now she'd be lost. How had it happened she asked herself again. How could there still be anything between them? Did he feel it too, this ... need? That was the only way she could describe it to herself, it was a need she had for him.

She didn't dare speak.

"You gotta get home for anything?"

"What did you have in mind?" Her voice came out deeper than she'd expected, sounding almost provocative and she prayed he didn't notice, or worse, think it was engineered.

"I always thought it was s'pposed to be bad manners to answer a question with another question."

Harry forced a smile. "I haven't any plans. Why do you ask?"


	26. Chapter 26

**So this is the last part of this section of 3 chapters. I'm afraid it goes on forever - I get so carried away with them. You'll need half an hour to get through it and a good deal of patience so be prepared! As always, I'd love your comments.**

Chapter 26

"Thought we could do somethin' together, since I've given myself the day off."

"Something? We're doing something now aren't we?"

Was it Dempsey's imagination or did she sound irritated? He couldn't keep up with her, running hot and cold like this.

"Somethin' later," he tried again.

"Didn't lunch rather run into later?"

So where had he gone wrong? What had he said to break the spell? They'd had such a great time up until now but it was as though she'd suddenly had enough of him.

"Yeah, you're right. Maybe we should both concentrate on tryin' to sober up."

No response this time.

How was he meant to get past this barrier when he couldn't see what the problem was?

"Have I said somethin' I shouldn't of?" he asked cautiously.

"No." She sounded genuinely puzzled by the question.

So what was it? If he'd been pushing too hard again it was only because he'd thought that was what she'd wanted; he definitely hadn't imagined that body language.

Dempsey put his sunglasses on and sulked quietly behind them for a few moments. He wasn't going to let it get to him though. Maybe it was the combination of too much sun and too much wine, maybe that was all it was.

"I don't think I should've had any of that second bottle," Harry said almost to herself, seemingly reading his thoughts.

"You'll be fine," he assured her. "Did you ever hear how drinking coffee through a straw is supposed to sober you up faster?"

"And how likely is that, do we think?"

"Never said I believed it."

He then went on to tell her of the numerous hangover cures he'd had passed on to him in the six months since taking on the bar and after a while, Harry seemed to come round again. He still hadn't managed to fathom out where he'd gone wrong though.

"Do you remember Angela Carstairs?" she asked suddenly.

"Angela? Of course I do. Angela who we used to go to the nightclubs with, right? Angela who gave you that red dress?"

"You still remember that?"

"Hard to forget."

"We're going out tomorrow night. She's just become a grandmother."

"Angela? You're kiddin' me!"

"Puts things into perspective, doesn't it ... how much time has passed?"

"Guess so." He wondered if that was a throw away comment or a subtle warning off. "So you see much of her?"

"All the time – our families are friends. She was surprised to hear you were back – wanted to know if you've still got all your hair," Harry smiled.

Dempsey laughed loudly. "Yeah, and I still got all my own teeth if she's interested."

Harry updated him on Angela's hectic and often riotously funny life, giving him an insight into her close friendship with the woman he had once liked so well and Dempsey found himself keen to meet up with her again.

"Bring her over sometime; I'd love to see her again."

"Be careful what you wish for, Dempsey, age hasn't slowed her down as I'm sure you've gathered," Harry grinned.

"Perfect!"

They were back at the bar before they knew it.

Harry asked, "Look, there's no way I'm fit to drive; if I ring for a taxi, would it be okay to leave my car here?"

"See, now I'm torn," sighed Dempsey. "If I say yes, I get to see you again tomorrow when you pick the car up but on the other hand," he screwed his face up as he contemplated his choices, "if I say no, it means you have to spend a couple more hours with me, drinking coffee through a straw."

Harry shook her head, laughing ironically at the suggestion. "Ah, no." She wagged her forefinger at him. "If you think I'm going in there again," the forefinger changed direction to wag towards the bar entrance, "with that bloody rude, nursemaiding minder of yours still at large, then you are very much mistaken."

"Julius is a pussy cat!" Dempsey protested.

She held up the string handled paper carrier bag. "No, this is a pussy cat – your friend is an ape!"

"Okay, okay. I got an alternative." He dug into his trouser pocket and came up with a small bunch of keys. "Here." He picked up her free hand, turned it over and dropped the keys into her palm. She stared at them, uncomprehending.

"And what do I do with these?"

"You take them around the back," he pointed in the direction he meant, "up the steps, you tap three-five-seven-one into the key pad and then you unlock the door of the apartment with the bronze coloured key you got there."

Harry looked at him, wide eyed.

"Oh yeah," Dempsey continued, "and you make us both that coffee."

She couldn't help but smile at his audacity. "Three-five-seven-one," she repeated after him. "And where will you be?"

"I'll be wrestlin' with the ape."

........................................................................................................................................................................

Harry was surprised and a little disappointed although she told herself it made no difference either way. The flat above Dempsey's Bar was adequate for his requirements she supposed but a little shabby and impersonal. She walked along the narrow hallway, opening doors as she went. There was a bathroom containing a sink, toilet and shower cubicle, all in utilitarian white with only the basic toiletries on display. The kitchen fared a little better, having fitted oak cupboards and tiled worktops and at least there were no pots in the sink or remains of this mornings breakfast. But the walls were bare, save for one of those joky little plaques informing the reader of the perils of slovenliness.

Harry filled the kettle and switched it on before searching in the cupboards for mugs. There was barely any food to speak of, just cereals and snacks and the fridge contained nothing apart from fresh milk, butter and eggs. It reminded her of the way he had been living when he had first come to England back in the 80's. His flat then had been spartan, as though he was just passing through, living out of a suitcase - until she had put her stamp on it of course. Well, if he'd only been back in London a few months and there was no woman in his life, perhaps this was sufficient for him – but it was rather depressing.

Leaving her handbag and the bag containing the cat doorstop on the small kitchen table, Harry took her coffee into the hallway and tried the next door along. A bedroom. She hesitated but decided she couldn't resist a look. This room told no tales. A pale blue carpet, blond pine furniture, a double divan made up with dark blue bed linen positioned under the sloping ceiling of the eaves and that was about it. Harry crossed to the other side of the room to stand by the wide window. There was a very long balcony outside which must be accessible by the lounge she had yet to see. The view of the town was excellent and she remained at the window for a few minutes, sipping at her coffee. But it wasn't long before she looked back over her shoulder at the bed. Tentatively, she went and perched on the edge, her left hand reaching out to smooth over the quilt.

_What are you doing with your life, James?_

Was he happy living this way? Did he want more? Why did Harry find herself wanting more _for _him? She watched her fingertips stroking the quilt cover, felt the slightly stiff texture of the cotton. She leant forward, her palm flat, forearm sweeping over the bed as she bent her head to the fabric, inhaling the scent. But she couldn't detect any trace of him.

If he were here now, if he wanted her now ...

She sat up and clasped the coffee cup in both hands, shocked by that train of thought and by the way her body had responded to it. It was all so wrong. Why couldn't she keep away?

"Hope you didn't start without me."

Harry sprang up off the bed and swung round to find Dempsey standing in the doorway. She hadn't heard the front door opening and his unexpected presence intruding into her wayward thoughts completely threw her.

"No, I was just ... no, sorry. I was just watching the world go by. It's a great view from here."

She was blushing.

"I wasn't snooping ... well, I was in as much as I was looking round the flat."

"It's fine – snoop away." He nodded at the cup in her hands. "You make me one of those?"

"In the kitchen."

He stood back and gestured for Harry to pass before him into the hall. "Shall we? If you've done snooping that is."

She coloured again but only a little this time. "I wasn't snooping, I was looking – there's a difference," she asserted as she brushed past him.

Dempsey held his hands up in surrender. "I ain't got a problem with that – we both used to do it professionally, remember?"

She was about to object again but seeing the open grin on his face, felt the embarrassment melt away and managed to laugh instead.

Back in the kitchen, Harry took the cloth cat out of the carrier bag and sat it on the table. "It's one of those things I would've regretted not buying. I don't do it often but today would definitely have been one of those occasions."

He smiled. "Gotta live for the moment, Harry."

The doorstop seemed to be smiling too.

"I haven't seen your lounge yet," she side-stepped and went off to have a look.

It was a very large room. French doors on one side leading onto the balcony and steps going down, presumably to the bar, on the other which would explain why she hadn't heard him enter the front door. More Ikea style pine furniture and a few big units holding numerous dvd's, cd's and books were ranged about the place. A super-sized plasma television dominated one wall and beneath it, Harry spied Nintendo Wii and Playstation games consoles.

"Well, you're certainly not short of entertainment," Harry said brightly.

This was awful! Like some sort of overgrown teenager's hang-out. She ran a finger along the spines of the dvd cases as she perused the shelves. All the Rocky films, a couple of Robin Williams comedies, Chocolat, Titanic, Perfume, some particularly gory sounding horror films, the whole Batman series, several romcoms, Rear Window and Vertigo from Hitchcock ...

"Quite an eclectic mix you have here."

The cd's and books told the same story; AC/DC alongside Charles Aznavour, O. Henry next to Maeve Binchey. She took down a small hardback copy of Oscar Wilde's 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'.

"I must've read this a hundred times." She held it up for him to see.

"I've read it once. I thought it was kinda gay and creepy."

Feeling nettled, she wandered around some more whilst Dempsey went and unlocked the French doors, opening them wide.

There was a battered old walnut desk by the doors, positioned to take advantage of the light no doubt. The laptop and folders that had been in the bar that morning were lying on top of it along with a stack of thee letter trays, each tray holding only a nominal amount of paperwork. Behind the desk was a unit housing an array of lever arch files all neatly labelled up. This was clearly his 'office' area and Harry was gratified to see Dempsey was at least capable of being sensible when it mattered. But then, if he had this thriving business on Jersey, he had to be doing something right, didn't he? And then she saw the framed photograph, half hidden by the flourishing Boston fern, sitting at one corner of the desk.

It was clearly Dempsey's son, the same thick, unruly hair, the same shape to his jaw but it was the eyes that were so unmistakably Dempsey's, so deep and brown, soulful, yet bright and alive. And so frighteningly familiar. Behind him stood an attractive, dark haired woman, her bare arms wrapped around the boy's shoulders, a happy smile directed at the camera.

"Jack and Juliette?" Harry asked, knowing full well it was.

Dempsey came and stood behind her, looking down at the frame in her hands. "Yeah, that's a couple of years old. Jack looks a lot different now, filled out a lot, gotten taller."

"He's just like you," she observed.

Dempsey grinned. "You think?" He was obviously very proud. "I keep meanin' to replace it. I got some great photos of him at New Year."

She had to comment. "Juliette looks very young ..."

"Let's see," he squeezed his lips together with his hand as he considered his reply. "Jack was thirteen there so I guess that puts her at around thirty-nine ... couple of years ago."

Harry looked up over her shoulder at him. "That's young!"

"Part of why it was never gonna work." He shrugged. "She was too young. Makes me feel guilty when I think of how many years she wasted on me."

Surprised, Harry turned to him. "That's an awful thing to say."

"It's true. Every time we broke up, I'd eventually go crawlin' back because it was convenient for me, not because I wanted her. I should've stayed away, for her sake, let her start over."

He took the photograph from Harry and replaced it on the desk. "Anyway, Jack tells me she's seein' someone – this guy – sounds serious and to tell you the truth, I'm relieved. Hope they live happily ever after."

"I don't imagine that Juliette feels those years were wasted; she got Jack out of it, didn't she?"

Dempsey looked down at the picture again. "That kid's the best thing that ever happened in my life," he said sincerely.

"And hers too – I can guarantee it."

His shoulders rose and fell without humour. "Yeah, no regrets there."

"Exactly."

Then something occurred to Harry that she couldn't help blurting out. "Jack Dempsey! His name's Jack Dempsey."

"You noticed that, huh?" he laughed. "Actually, it's Jack Middleton, not Dempsey – he's got Juliette's surname."

"Oh, I see," she said, surprised.

"I wouldn't marry her so she wouldn't give him my name. I kinda pushed for the name Jack and as she'd never heard of Jack Dempsey at that time, I got away with it." He laughed. "She was pissed when she realised but Jack thinks it's cool."

Harry was starting to understand why their relationship had been so shaky.

"Commitment issues, aye Dempsey?" she smiled.

"I knew she was never gonna be the one is all."

"But if you felt that way ..." Harry began.

"Because I also knew that she was the best I could hope for."

The terrible thing was that she could understand his reasons for saying that. She just stared at him, unable to form any sort of vocal response.

"Ah, c'mmon, don't look at me that way," he pleased. "I ain't proud of the way I treated her."

"I know."

She wanted so much to hear him say it, that like her, he had settled for second best.

Dempsey's eyes narrowed. "Yeah?"

She nodded, maintaining the eye contact.

He was the one to break away first. It suddenly all seemed too intense and maybe he was reading more into it than was really there but it felt like there was a deep-rooted empathy running between them.

"So," said Harry, emphatically, going over to the French doors. She stood on the threshold to gaze out across the balcony and beyond to the view of the town. "Where are you planning on hanging this mirror of yours?"

When after several seconds there was still no answer forthcoming, Harry turned to find Dempsey grinning at her.

"What?" she asked.

"You think this is where I live," he accused, roguishly.

Harry frowned, confused. "And don't you?"

"No!"

"Then who does?"

"Nobody does. It's just the apartment that came with the bar. The staff use it during their breaks and it's kind of a dressing room for the acts we get in. The band sometimes uses it for somewhere to crash if rehearsals go on too late or get a little boozy – or both.

"Oh." Harry felt quite dazed. "I see."

"I think I should feel insulted," he jibed.

"Well, you give me a bunch of keys, point me up some steps and tell me to make coffee," she complained. "That did rather give me the impression it was your flat and I don't think it was such a leap to assume that you live 'over the shop' as it were."

Harry felt ludicrously annoyed. The assumptions she had made had been disagreeable and difficult for her to accept and now he was telling her she had been jumping to conclusions. Why had she been so willing to accept the scenario she had fought so vehemently against once upon a time?

"I've got a place just a few miles from here," he smiled, amused by her rancour.

"You might've said," Harry snapped.

"Didn't realise it was important."

"It isn't important!"

"So why're you so mad?"

She glared at him, not knowing how to answer. She _was_ mad, angry with herself more than anything. It had been upsetting to her to think he lived so ... superficially. But she had no right to judge the way he chose to live his life anyway, it was no business of hers.

"You think this place is classy, wait 'til you see where I really live!"

Harry's glare became a scowl. Was it so obvious, what she'd been thinking?

"I got a jukebox in the lounge, a whole collection of those cute picture mirrors in the kitchen, you know the ones," he grinned, getting into his stride, "with the puppy dogs and the waterfalls and the Southern Comfort bottles."

"You're really not funny, James."

But he carried on anyway. "And I play pinball in the bedroom." He was trying not to laugh now. "But that's maybe too much information, huh?" A small burst of laughter erupted and his thumb reflexively brushed the side of his mouth.

Harry was still scowling.

"Sorry," he said, trying to sound sincere and failing.

The same thumb jerked back over his shoulder. "You want a game of Ten Pin Bowling on the Wii? But I have to warn you, I play a mean game."

The tiniest of smiles. "It's only a question of mastering the trajectory."

A look of surprise crossed his face. "You've played?" He hadn't expected that comeback.

"Ed has it and no, I think I'll decline, thanks all the same."

There was a pause and Dempsey regarded her sheepishly. "You know I'm only kiddin' around?" he asked softly. "Guess I can understand why you'd think I live here."

"Why would it matter to me where and how you live?" Harry asked high-handedly as she flounced out onto the balcony.

"Matters to me Harry," he called after her, "always did." He followed her out to stand beside her, leaning over the metal rail and looking down.

Harry stared at her coffee cup balanced on the rail between her hands. "Don't," she said tightly. "Just ... don't. It was too long ago, James."

_So why did the memory still hurt so much?_

"Most of it was in my head. I know that now. Maybe if I'd known it then ..." Dempsey let the sentence go unfinished.

"I really don't want to talk about this," she ground. "There's absolutely no point."

"But I want us to be friends and I don't know if we can do that until we've cleared the air."

The very idea was abhorrent to her; to dredge through what had gone wrong between them, to sift through the bitter recriminations, to walk amongst those ghostly words that had once been so real and whole and dreadful.

She couldn't answer for a moment and stood staring at the view, her lips pursed, her whole demeanour making her unapproachable.

"Very melodramatic," she said at last.

"I just need to know that we're okay, that you can forgive and forget."

"Forgive you?" Harry asked. "You still want to go apportioning blame after all this time? Does it even matter any more?"

Dempsey turned his head, hearing her answer her own question in that shrill response. It mattered very much.

"Okay," he said slowly, "you don't wanna talk? That's fine." He watched her thumbnail clicking against the handle of her mug. "And you're probably right, what difference would talking make?"

He was losing her again, just like after he'd bought the mirror earlier. She let herself get close to him and then something seemed to hold her back and draw her away. There was still that old spark between them though, he was sure she felt it but was just unwilling to accept it.

"You've caught the sun," he commented, noticing the pink glow to her arms.

Her hand brushed over her left upper arm in response. "I've been out in it too long today."

"You wanna go indoors for a while?"

Harry shook her head. "I can't bear to miss the sunshine – we see so little of it." Quickly, she drained her cup. "Anyway, I think I should be going."

She made to walk to the French doors but Dempsey put a hand up as he said, "Maybe give it another half hour? I know I don't feel capable of driving so I doubt very much you are."

He took the empty coffee cup off her. "Why don't I make us a nice cold drink, we'll sit out here a while longer and then I promise I'll let you go."

"Fine," she sighed, resignedly.

He could tell she'd been about to argue and was obviously frustrated by the fact that he was right.

So she went and sat at the large green rectangular plastic table and chairs while Dempsey organised a jug of iced Grenadine.

The balcony was more like a terrace, running almost the entire length of the bar below them. Large terracotta pots that had once contained flowers of some kind or another now stood empty save for the dry, eroded soil. She surreptitiously watched Dempsey walking towards her carrying the jug and glasses on a tray, smiling cheerfully. Everything about him was so startlingly familiar; the way he walked, the angle at which he held his head, the softness in his eyes.

Harry wanted to get up and walk away and never, ever see him again – she had to do the right thing.

The ensuing conversation was embarrassingly stilted by Harry's vague yes and no replies and when communication eventually petered out altogether, she quickly took the opportunity to make her excuses and go.

"You sure you're gonna be okay?" Dempsey asked as he walked her down to the car.

"Yes."

"So when are we going out to dinner?" he asked tentatively, anxious now to hold on to some thread of contact.

Car keys in hand, she checked her watch in agitation. "I don't know," she said tensely, "I'll give you a ring or something."

"You promise?"

"Maybe next week." She had the door open now and was sliding into the seat.

"Maybe?" he asked.

She slammed the door shut and for a second, Dempsey thought she was going to just drive away. But the engine started and the window lowered. "Thanks for this afternoon." She leaned her arm along the sill, looking up at him. "Bye, James."

As she retreated back inside the car, releasing the handbrake as she prepared to leave, Dempsey dropped his hand to the roof and bent down to her.

"Am I getting' the brush-off here, Harry?"

"I've just said I'll call you, haven't I?" she said tersely before repeating pointedly, "Goodbye, James."

For years, Dempsey had lived with the fact that he'd lost Harry Makepeace and now he was seriously wondering if he would ever see Harry Cavanagh again.


	27. Chapter 27

_With apologies to xWhiteKnightx for the lateness of this chapter ;-)_

_Chapter 27_

_Dempsey was worried. It couldn't be right, could it? It certainly wasn't normal for a guy – at least, definitely not a guy like him._

_Harry had stopped over at his place last night which was a rarity in itself and then this morning, it being Saturday, she had decided she was going to take him grocery shopping. His cupboards seldom contained anything other than potato chips, cereals and peanut butter – the latter he had been amused to discover was a foodstuff which quite literally made Harry gag. So they had taken a trip to his local market and spent over an hour choosing nourishing and wholesome ingredients that Harry had deemed compatible with his lifestyle. Unfortunately, his usual frozen pizza, chocolate muffins and beer didn't seem to feature on their shopping list but there were plenty of additions to his diet such as soya milk, yoghurt and nuts of the unsalted variety. He also discovered he was quite partial to beansprouts and they demolished half a bag between them as they walked up and down the aisles. _

_But the thing that had really alarmed him was when he'd realised he was enjoying himself!_

_Course, he knew it was mostly down to the company he was keeping but who'd have thought a grocery shopping expedition could be that much fun? He'd pushed the cart to begin with and so obviously couldn't resist the lure of four wheels on a smooth, hard surface for very long. The great stretch of aisle proved just too tempting for Dempsey and he'd ridden that sucker like a Bronco! Sensible Harriet had been mortified at first but as was so often the case with Harry and forbidden fruit, she had the irresistible urge to sample it for herself. Black looks and a near collision with a display of pickled eggs had eventually conquered their enthusiasm however._

"_Pickled eggs!" Dempsey had exclaimed. "That's gotta be the most disgusting thing I ever heard of. It's enough to stop anybody in their tracks!"_

_They had taken the shopping back to his apartment and made a great performance of putting everything away, throwing items to each other across the kitchen to be stored away in cupboards and refrigerator. If this was domestic bliss, he wanted some of it on a regular basis!_

_After a quick lunch of scrambled eggs on toast, Harry had announced it was her intention to buy him some new underwear, having noticed the declining state of his Jockey shorts recently. Dempsey had admitted he'd never purchased any new underwear since moving to the U.K and agreed to a second foray into the wonderful world of retail therapy._

_So now, here they were in that most traditional of British department stores, Marks & Spencer._

"_If you wanna try on any lingerie yourself while we're here, angel, you know I'd be only too happy to give you my honest and frank opinion," Dempsey told her as they ascended to the first floor on the escalator._

"_I don't think so, Lieutenant, we don't want you getting carried away."_

"_Me?" he remonstrated._

"_Or possibly me," she conceded with a sly smile. "But the fitting rooms are quite small here and I'm not sure we'd both fit in," she added brazenly._

"_I'm game if you are, sugar-pie," he murmured in his Southern accent that amused Harry so. He was standing behind her, hands fastened either side of the escalator handrails and she could feel his breath tickling behind her ear. Her shoulders rose up in a cringing giggle._

"_Really, Dempsey, this is Marks and Spencer's you know. The whole fabric of society would simply collapse!"_

_Dempsey thought about that for a second or two. "And that's funny because this store is like a British institution, right?" English people had a strange sense of humour sometimes._

_Once upstairs, they wandered around the racks for a while, looking at various items of clothing. Harry was particularly taken with a fitted black shirt and Dempsey agreed to try it on before they left. He wasn't quite sure if he liked the idea of Makepeace revamping his wardrobe though. Was there something wrong with the way he dressed? True, his apartment was in need of some feminine touches but he'd always thought he could hold his own where sartorial matters were concerned. Was there something lacking that he hadn't quite appreciated perhaps?_

"_Ah, here we are!" Harry declared as the roundabout racks gave way to a panoramic vista of socks and undergarments._

"_Okay, so what have we got here?" Dempsey went to the nearest wall display and flicked through the hooked, rectangular packets._

"_Nah. These are all the skinny, tight fittin' little briefs. I gotta have a bit of room in there ya know?"_

_Harry was slowly moving around a floor stand. "There are some boxer shorts here that are quite nice," she called. _

_Dempsey went over to have a look._

"_Well, we're in the right ball-park – no pun intended."_

_Harry glanced up at him with a sardonic smirk._

"_But the style's too ... flappy," he continued._

"_Flappy?"_

"_Yeah, you know what I mean. I like them to be closer fitting. You know what I wear, Harry," he whined, already becoming disenchanted with the situation._

"_I'm not actually sure you can get what you wear in this country." Harry was riffling through another rack now. "Not that I'm particularly au fait with men's underwear these days ..." she moved on again to the individual pairs on little hangers, "but as I recall, when I was buying them for Robert, there wasn't anything like the sort you want."_

"_That's just great! So I guess I'm doomed to flappin' around then, huh?"_

"_I'm afraid so."_

_Out of curiosity, Dempsey asked, "And which was your husband, a briefs or shorts man?"_

"_Well," Harry held up a pair of peacock blue jersey cotton boxer shorts. "No," they said in unison before she continued with her original reply. "I sort of steered him into boxers. When we first met, he used to wear Y_Fronts – complete and utter passion-killers, I can tell you."_

"_Y-Fonts?" Dempsey made a gesture with his finger in the general groin area. "You mean those things with the ..."_

"_The 'Y' on the front," they both finished together._

_Harry supplied a little look of distaste. "Yes, unfortunately."_

"_My old man used to wear them!"_

"_Exactly - and mine probably still does. In fact, I think over here, they're classed as another British institution."_

_Dempsey suddenly felt a whole lot better._

_They moved around to the other side of the rack._

"_How about these?" Harry reached up to unhook a pair of navy striped boxers and Dempsey slid his arms about her waist, resting his chin on her left shoulder._

"_Okay, I suppose."_

"_Dempsey!"_

"_Mm hm?" She smelled nice._

"_Hands!"_

_The eternal cry. Rarely did he get away with this sort of demonstration of affection in a public place. The latest rebuff, although disheartening, was entirely expected and she disentangled herself from his grasp in a practiced and seamless manner and without further comment. He got the impression she didn't even have to think about it anymore; it was just an automatic rejection of any physical connection to her._

_Dempsey frowned. She didn't seem to get how much if hurt and frustrated him, though he'd tried to tell her often enough. She said it was just the price they had to pay. Must be why he felt so down at heel these days, so stony broke when she refused to acknowledge him as anything more than a friend to the eyes of the world._

"_Dempsey? James ... James?"_

_She finally managed to get his attention back. "You were miles away."_

_He smiled, looking down into that bright, expectant face. She was so God-damn beautiful. "Sorry, Princess."_

_Her hand rubbed briefly up and down his forearm. "Are you okay?" Harry's blue eyes were wide with concern and he realised now he'd been completely out of it for a few moments._

"_Sure, I'm okay. Guess this ain't called a shoppin' 'trip' for nothin', huh? Maybe I'm in 'the zone'."_

"_Or maybe we should for a coffee somewhere."_

"_Sounds good."_

"_Come on then."_

_Harry set off again but Dempsey stopped her._

"_Wait – I got it. They're called trunks ... the shorts I wear are called trunks."_

_Harry turned to him, eyes sliding up to his in awe._

"_Trunks? American humour at its finest!" she exclaimed._

"_What?" He didn't see it._

_She regarded him with suspicion now. "Typical Yank swagger, I suppose."_

_He shook his head. "What is?"_

_He really didn't know and Harry had to laugh. "Trunks! There is a rather obvious connection to elephants there I think."_

_A slow smile gathered at the corners of Dempsey's mouth. "Never thought o' that before," he admitted, "but since you mention it, guess it is quite fitting."_

"_And why might that be?" Harry asked innocently._

"_So I've been lead to believe."_

_They had wandered into a dead-end in between a rack of underwear and a wide display of ties._

"_People say things in the heat of the moment," Harry excused herself._

_Dempsey pushed an ear forward with two fingers, pretending to have misheard. "People scream _what_ in the heat of the moment?"_

_Hidden from view as they were, Harry dared to break her own rule and pushed him up against the wooden shelving at the back of them. "You're not big and you're not clever, Lieutenant." Her hands held onto the collar of his cream open neck shirt, pulling his head down to hers._

"_I'll settle for large and of moderate intellect, how 'bout that, Sergeant?"_

_Her eyes fell to his lips when she answered him. "But will I?"_

_Dempsey's pulse had quickened considerably. "Now ain't that the million dollar question."_

"_Oh, you'll do." Her mouth pressed artfully against his. "You'll definitely do."_

_They both felt the familiar, unstoppable desire building between them and grinned at each other, knowingly._

"_Sergeant Makepeace, isn't it?"_

_Harry jumped away from the clinch as though she'd been shot._

"_And Lieutenant Dempsey?"_

_They both turned to face their inquisitor._

_Harry's face was scarlet as she held out her hand to shake that of Chief Superintendent Spikings' wife. "Good afternoon, Mrs Spikings." Quite how she managed to keep her voice so calm and fluid, she wasn't entirely certain because she felt sure it was a situation that good breeding alone wasn't going to get her through. "Lovely to see you again."_

"_I thought I recognised you. It's often so hard to place a person out of their normal environment but even from behind, Sergeant Makepeace, you're extremely recognisable with that wonderful hair of yours."_

_Harry touched a self-conscious hand to her messy blonde bob. "Thank you."_

"_And of course," Mrs Spikings continued, "seeing the two of you together puts you in context."_

_Dempsey stepped forward. "Mrs Spikings," he greeted, taking the lady's hand between both of his and squeezing as he gazed at her with a honeyed glint in his eye. "Great to see you. The boss is always talkin' about you yet we get to see you so seldom."_

_She smiled at his flattery. _

"_You should really stop by the office more often, you know," he added, a flirtatious reprimand to his tone._

_But Mrs Spikings was far more interested in Makepeace's glowing complexion to be taken in by Dempsey's sweet-talk._

"_I hope this is just an innocent shopping spree, Sergeant."_

_Harry's colour heightened further._

_Dempsey intervened. "Well, I was buyin' smalls, she was buyin' ... stuff and we kinda bumped into each other."_

"_So I noticed," said Mrs Spikings, nodding sagely. "I thought I might've intruded upon some undercover operation for a moment, you see."_

_Harry swallowed hard and tried to resist the urge to wipe her damp hands over her skirt. "No, Lieutenant Dempsey was trying to wind me up ... it's what he does ... he thinks it's funny to embarrass me. We weren't actually ... well, it wasn't what it may have looked like."_

_And all the while she stuttered and stammered, she was telling herself to just shut up._

_Mrs Spikings cast an unreadable look towards Dempsey before telling her, "But if you're off duty my dear, I'm sure there's nothing to be embarrassed about." She produced a speculative sort of smile that encompassed the pair of them._

"_Anyway, I must get on; Mr Spikings and I are out to dinner tonight and he's in dire need of a new tie."_

_They said their goodbyes and Dempsey and Harry casually strolled away but once out of sight, Harry marched to the escalator and continued marching or rather stomping down the moving steps._

"_Oh, that's just bloody marvellous," she stormed. "That is so bloody terrific!"_

"_I think we came out of it pretty well," said Dempsey, calmly._

"_Funnily enough, James, I don't see that," she said through gritted teeth. "How exactly does the boss's wife catching us," she cast about for a suitabley obnoxious expression, "snogging the face off each other, constitute coming out of it 'pretty well'?"_

_Her hands pressed flat against her still flushed and reddened cheeks. "God, I'm surprised she didn't throw a bucket of water over me!"_

"_We were only kissin'," he said, deliberately mis-interpreting her meaning._

_She didn't even tell him to shut up – a bad sign._

"_So that's it then, isn't it?" she snapped. "We'll be the mainstay of tonight's dinner table conversation; how we were practically 'doing it' in Marks and Spencer's underwear department and then first thing Monday morning, our feet won't touch."_

"_Hey, take a minute to cool off there, partner," Dempsey placated. "It was just one small kiss and you explained to her the circumstances – it was just me foolin' around with you, it was perfectly normal."_

_Harry was now charging determinedly up the high street with Dempsey bringing up the rear. "She saw what she saw and she knew exactly what that was. You heard her, 'I thought it might be an undercover operation'," Harry mocked. "She thought it was hilarious!"_

"_Doesn't mean nothin'."_

"_Double negative, Dempsey so it definitely means something! It means the game is up!"_

_Dempsey stopped walking, grabbing her upper arm to make her stop too."_

"_This ain't a game, Harry ... we ain't no game."_

_There was a darkness in his voice that drew a shadow about them, standing there in the bright sunlight._

_Harry prised his fingers away and a half smile twisted her mouth unpleasantly. "No? Oh and I'm having so much fun – can't you tell?" Her own hands grasped her upper arms then, crossing over her chest protectively._

"_This isn't my fault."_

"_I never said it was." She looked away and Dempsey saw her eyes were glistening. "It's mine."_

_He didn't know what to do with his hands – except he did, he knew they should be holding Harry, comforting her. Self consciously, his right hand squeezed his lips, moving around his chin and then working over the back of his neck._

"_C'mmon, nothing ever turns out as bad as you think it's gonna. There's no point gettin' psyched up over somethin' that may never happen."_

_He angled his head to try to get her to look at him. "Betcha it doesn't even get a mention on Monday."_

_Harry's eyes fell to her feet._

"_Hm?" A finger came out to lift her chin. "There's nothin' to worry about, Princess."_

_And then like a small child, shocked and frightened by the accidental breakage of a fragile ornament, her lip trembled momentarily before she burst into a cataclysmic outpouring of tears, her arms fastening tightly around his chest as she flung herself against him._

"_I'm sorry," she snivelled, miserably._

_For a few moments, he held her close, rejoicing in her suffering, his heart swelling as his mind equated her pain with the degree of love she felt for him. But then as he stood absorbing each sob that emanated from her body like the ticking of a clock, a cruelly insidious thought crawled into his head. What if somewhere deep inside there was an element of play involved for Harry? What if this obsession with secrecy had somehow taken on the elements of a game; cat and mouse, hide and seek. Was there a thrill factor for her in their relationship that went beyond the normal interpretation? And now, Vivienne Spikings had come along and shown her imminent defeat. As she had said herself, 'the game was up', and Harry knew she had lost. _


	28. Chapter 28

**My account went haywire earlier this week and I think some reviews got lost in the ether so if you reviewed Chapter 27 (or even if you didn't) I'd love you to have another try at submitting some feedback. I might even post Chapter 29 this weekend - now there's an incentive ;-D**

Chapter 28

There was a crowd of them around the table. They'd only been in The Cross Patch for an hour but it was getting loud already.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ed saw Jay walk in with a couple of her friends. She hadn't seen him and he wondered if he should just leave it. But she'd only end up having a go a t him when he got around to telling her.

"Just gonna have a word with my sister," he said aloud to no one in particular, climbing around the closely stationed chairs.

"Waaaay!" cheered Adi. "Jay is in da house!" and everyone laughed.

"Forget it, mate," Ed scoffed, "she's too old for you and she's got bigger fish to fry at the station house."

He caught up with her at the bar.

"Alright, mutt?" he asked.

"Alright, ladyboy?" she replied.

With the pleasantries out of the way, Ed asked her quietly, "Got a minute?"

Jay looked puzzled for a second until it dawned on her what it was about.

"Has he been back?"

Ed took a swig from his pint and nodded. "Think so."

Jay picked up the glass of white wine off the bar that her friend, Natasha, had just bought for her and explained she'd be back shortly. She followed Ed out to the entrance porch.

"You think so – you haven't actually seen him again then?"

"No but I'm positive Mum has. Couple of times she's been out with 'a friend'. Like, when she's out with 'a friend', she always says who it is, doesn't she?"

"Is she still going out with that guy, Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think it's serious?"

"How would I know?"

"Well I haven't spoken to Mum in over a week but I didn't get the impression she was head over heels or anything."

"So?"

Jay frowned. "I don't know, just an observation."

"And she's acting a bit strange," Ed said tentatively.

"What do you mean?"

"Like, moody – really up and down." He went on to tell her about finding Harry looking so woebegone and bedraggled in the kitchen a fortnight earlier and how she'd been touchy ever since.

And then he dropped his bombshell.

Taking out his wallet from his jeans pocket, he drew out a card and handed it over.

"I found this in the kitchen drawer when I was looking for the spare garage key."

It was the 'Dempsey's Bar' business card.

Jay held the card away from her as though it was somehow harmful to her health and the look of shock on her face made Ed feel uneasy.

"So it's definitely him," she said gruffly.

...…

At last his mouth broke away from hers to fall at her neck, his lips smudging swollen kisses up her throat. She could hear his breathing, soft and ragged behind her ear.

"Oh God, Harry," he murmured.

She could feel panic rising steadily within her just as surely as she could feel his desire but she forced herself to remain composed, her hands resting placidly upon his back, her eyes closed.

_What the hell are you doing, you stupid woman?_

When his hands shifted from her hips, past her waist, up to her ribcage, the panic heightened almost beyond endurance.

It would be fine, there was no problem, she could do it.

"Are you alright with this?" he asked hotly.

_What an inane thing to say! What he really wanted to know was 'are you up for sex?'_

She nodded and a sort of creak sounded in her throat. She wanted it too she told herself, she had the same needs as he did and there was nothing wrong with fulfilling those needs and she could go along quite easily with whatever he wanted. If she imagined … but that was so wrong. Hadn't she done it before though? Pretended …

"Harry …"

She heard her name repeated in her mind – a different timbre, another accent …

Again, his mouth covered hers, his lips opening against her lips, his tongue lashing rhythmically against her tongue.

Harry's nostrils flared as she quelled the desperation to turn her head away.

Sam mistook the digging of her fingertips into the flesh of his back as passion and his left hand rose to cup her breast through the fabric of her dress.

She groaned out in torment and immediately Sam's other hand kneaded her right buttock in callous desire.

The sound of a ringing telephone had never seemed so wonderful to Harry but when Sam continued his onslaught, seemingly oblivious, she at least had a reason to pull away.

"I don't think they're going to give up, Sam" she laughed unevenly.

"Probably not."

_Just go and answer the bloody phone!_

His fingers tangled through the back of her hair to drag her roughly to him again.

"Whoever it is will ring back. It isn't talking I'm, interested in at the moment."

The ringing had set her nerves jangling now and Sam at last seemed to notice her rigidity.

"Thirty seconds," he promised, apologising for leaving her at such a critical moment as he saw it.

The phone had been ringing for what seemed like an eternity but in actual fact was probably only a minute. Even so, that was half a lifetime in the world of telecommunications.

Hearing him ensconced in conversation in the adjacent room, Harry seated herself tenuously on the edge of the sofa.

She really couldn't go through with it. When an interruption felt like a reprieve, it was tantamount to self-harm. What was she trying to prove? She liked Sam Tate a lot, she really did and there was no reason for her not to take that next step and sleep with him but there was something missing – or something in the way.

She looked distastefully at the half finished brandy sitting on the side table. The thought of drinking any more of that, repressing her instincts any further, was quite repellent.

So what was she supposed to do? She could make her excuses tonight but what if she still felt like this the next time and the time after that? It didn't have to actually mean anything; she knew you didn't have to be in love to make love. Attraction, passion, desire, guilt, happiness, lust, pity – there was a whole catalogue of reasons. She had loved Philip dearly for many years without being what she considered to be truly 'in love' but they had been happy enough. Now though, she wanted more than that because three weeks ago she had been painfully and unnervingly reminded that it was possible.

"I don't believe this!"

Sam strode back in, clearly exasperated and grabbed up his brandy glass.

"What's happened?"

The former mood had evaporated and Harry immediately felt more comfortable. She watched him tip the glass and drink.

"That call was from the company that maintains the security system. There's been some sort of a breach, apparently."

She registered the diamond cufflinks he was wearing for the first time. A little ostentatious. Then she back-tracked on what he'd just said.

"Your security system?"

"Yeah, the bloke said the signal's gone down or something and they can't reinstate it remotely until it's been fixed at this end."

Harry felt her skin prickling. "Oh, I see. So what are they doing?"

"Sending someone over, apparently. They've got someone on call who's in the area."

Harry had a very bad feeling about this. "Now?" she asked.

Sam covered the few steps that separated them and wrapped an arm about her shoulders. "I know," he said with a rueful smile, "bad timing or what?"


	29. Chapter 29

_Chapter 29_

_They were called into work early on Monday morning and by seven-thirty, the whole team was assembled in the outer office for Spikings' briefing on the Jeremy Calder case. Events over the weekend had taken a remarkable turn in their favour when his newly dumped girlfriend had decided to impart certain information relating to Calder's counterfeit electronics operation. Armed with a list of his distribution agents spread across the city of London, the team had made numerous arrests before arriving mob-handed at the central warehousing facility for the goods, in of all places, Kensington._

_After their fourteen hour stint, they filed through the double doors of The Bramcote Arms public house, tired, sweaty and dishevelled but never-the-less, walking on air._

"_Well done lads," Spikings congratulated each one of them with a slap to the shoulder and a handshake as they made their way to the bar. "Nice work today – very nice work and I'm proud of you all."_

_Now that wasn't something you heard every day from the Chief-Super and the fact that he bought their first round was testament to his immense satisfaction at the days results._

_It was unnaturally humid for an English summer and by unspoken consent, the SI10 team drifted out to the beer garden at the rear of the pub where they found a barbeque in progress._

"_Fantastic!" Fry enthused. "I'm bloody starving."_

"_You and me both, buddy," Dempsey agreed, hustling him to the queue. "Get you anything, Sergeant?" he yelled to Harry over his shoulder._

"_If you can find something that doesn't contain eye-holes, ear-holes or arseholes, I may consider it," she called back jovially which brought a wave of laughter from her colleagues._

"_Not much danger of that," commented Watson."_

_Chas agreed. "S'ppose they might manage a cheese sandwich at the bar. Want me to ask?"_

"_Thanks but I'll see what James comes up with."_

_How had that managed to slip out? She never called him by his name in front of the others. Watson seemed oblivious but whilst Chas passed no comment, the fleetingly amused smile she received from him would indicate that it hadn't escaped his notice. She would have felt happier somehow if he'd made a joke of it._

"_Hey, go steady," Chas warned as she drained the remaining half of lager from her glass. "If you're anything like me, you've been running around on an empty stomach since breakfast."_

_Harry rolled her eyes. "'Running' being the operative word. Don't think I've put in as much leg work in one day since I was in uniform!"_

"_It's been a grueller alright," Watson agreed._

_They talked for a few minutes about their individual arrests before Fry and Dempsey arrived back with paper plates laden with char-grilled cereal-based products masquerading as meat._

_Harry watched as Dempsey took an enormous, tomato ketchup-oozing bite out of a burger in a bun. She turned her head away, puckering her face in disgust._

"_What don't kill ya only makes ya stronger," he grinned, chewing enthusiastically._

"_And if it kills you, Dempsey, I was right all along," she came back. "Nothing for me then I take it?"_

"_Oh, yeah, yeah." He dropped the burger back down onto his plate and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand._

"_Fry, show Harry your buns."_

_Even in the fading light it was obvious Fry was blushing but as usual, nobody could resist a laugh at the young man's expense._

"_Erm," Fry proffered his piled up plate. "We got you a beanburger."_

_Dempsey jerked his head at Fry. "His idea."_

"_Thank you very much Fry," Harry assuaged, "very thoughtful." She glared at Dempsey and then dipped her head to peer at the contents of the paper plate._

"_It's the one looks like dog meat," said Dempsey, helpfully. "You can pay me back later." There was the subtlest lifting of an eyebrow that only Harry was privy to._

_Harry picked out what she suspected was her burger and sniffed at it tentatively. "By the looks of it, I may be bringing it back later!"_

"_Nice, Sergeant, very nice. Very lady-like." He was holding his bottle of Budweiser in his lower fist underneath his plate and plucked it clear to take a long draught. Fry, plate in one hand and pint glass in the other was somewhat stymied._

"_I, err … I think I'll go and find a seat."_

_Dempsey childishly waved him off. "Catch you later, pal."_

"_You can be cruel," Harry reprimanded once Fry was out of earshot._

_Dempsey grinned. "Can I get that in writing, Sergeant?"_

_Chas finished his pint and made to leave. "Right, that's me! I've just seen some chicken go on the barbeque and I want first dabs."_

_Watson drank up too. "I'm with you then, mate," and headed off after him._

"_Chicken!" moaned Harry. "I'd rather have had chicken than this travesty in a bread roll."_

"_Thank you very much Fry … very thoughtful." Dempsey mimicked._

"_Well," she sulked, "you're always so horrible to him."_

_They were by themselves now. Harry struggled manfully through another mouthful of beanburger._

"_God, I'm shattered."_

"_Long day," he acknowledged. "You wanna go after this? Think everyone's ready for beddy-byes."_

_Chief-Superintendent Spikings suddenly appeared beside them, sipping from a fresh glass of Scotch._

"_So how is my favourite couple of coppers doing?" he asked with one of his characteristic leers. "You did a good job today."_

"_Thank you, Sir," said Harry._

"_Yeah, cheers boss, 'ppreciate the recognition." Dempsey gave a little bow._

"_Yeeees, recognition. I recognise many things now, even though I may have been a tad slow on the uptake initially." _

"_Sir?" Harry asked._

_He might be talking in riddles but it didn't take a genius to know they should both be feeling extremely uncomfortable at this point._

"_I have it on good authority," he put his clenched fist to his mouth as he released a small belch, " and let me tell you, one's wife is always a very good authority," he continued, "that you two are indeed a 'couple' of coppers."_

_Spikings waited expectantly, lifting slightly on his toes. "Anything either of you would like to say?"_

_Harry brazened it out. "About what, Sir?"_

_Spikings transferred his sly smile to Dempsey. "Lieutenant?"_

_Dempsey thrust the last part of his beefburger into his mouth and shrugged. "Like Harry says, 'bout what?"_

"_Right," said the Chief, patiently. "Let me put it another way, shall I? I have reason to believe that you two are making use of the term 'partners' out of hours. Am I right?"_

"_It's true we consort off duty, Sir, yes," said Harry, indignantly. "I don't see any problem with that."_

"_And what exactly do we mean by 'consort'?"_

"_Pretty much like we're doin' right now, Sir," the heavy emphasis on the 'Sir' indicating that Dempsey considered it to be none of his business. "We go to pubs, we hang out." Then he eyeballed Spikings. "We might even go shopping in department stores together on weekends."_

"_Hmm." Spikings appeared to be giving that his consideration and swirled the ice around in his drink for a time. "I think what I really should be asking is, are the two of you indulging in… err …" he faltered here and his fingers pulled at his necktie which suddenly seemed to be constricting his breathing, "sexual intercourse – together, that is?" He cleared his throat in a serious fashion._

_There was an elongated pause before Dempsey made his final bid. "Actually boss, we're just standin' here havin' a drink."_

_Harry shot a nervous, angry look at her partner, her cheeks suffused with heat, her heart throbbing in her ears._

_Spikings looked from one to the other. "I'll take that as a yes then."_

_Both Dempsey and Makepeace stood with their heads lowered._

"_You look like a pair of naughty school children," smirked Spikings._

_Dempsey looked about him aggressively, blowing sharply through clenched teeth. "So what now? Whadya want from us, 'sorry boss, we won't let it happen again'? Is that what you need to hear?"_

_Seeing the frustration building rapidly in the American, Spikings nodded towards the rose arbour leading out to the car park. "Over there," he commanded._

_The three of them moved along the ten feet or so, just enough to afford them some extra privacy._

"_Now," Spikings raised a forefinger towards them, "let us get one thing straight here. I'm not condemning what you two get up to when you're off the clock but neither can I condone it. The guidelines are perfectly clear on these matters as I'm sure you are all too aware. Personal relationships of a … of a sexual nature between officers are not acceptable within the higher echelons of the force. We are the higher echelons. We are the ones who can least afford to make mistakes. But I won't bore you with that particular lecture."_

"_Gee, thanks," said Dempsey sarcastically and Harry shot him a venomous look for his trouble._

"_I think you'd do well to remember who you're speaking to, Lieutenant, if you're serious about the Sergeant that is."_

_Dempsey looked directly into his boss's eyes. "Ain't never been more serious."_

"_And you, Sergeant?"_

"_Same here," she answered, quietly._

_Spikings rubbed his hand vigorously over his short hair. "Oh dear, I was afraid of that. Can't say I'm surprised though – it was always going to go either one way or the other."_

"_How do you mean, Sir?" asked Makepeace, awkwardly._

"_It's a thin line," he stated and when his two officers appeared not to grasp what he was getting at, followed it up with, "between love and hate."_

_Neither of them chose to comment._

"_I've not been totally oblivious, you know. When all that agile banter dried up, I began to suspect something between you had changed. But you've done well to keep it quiet for so long." He looked to Dempsey. "Six months?"_

_The Lieutenant couldn't hide his surprise. "Yeah, give or take."_

"_You've known all this time, Sir?" Harry too was amazed._

"_Suspected. I've never pursued it because you haven't given me any reason to – yet."_

_Harry angled a furtive look towards Dempsey before asking, "What do you intend to do – now you know?"_

"_Nothing."_

_A ray of hope shone faintly._

"_Really?" she asked._

"_Except to warn you that the longer the relationship continues, the more vigilant you need to be. It was my wife who saw you and your little indiscretion in Marks and Spencers at the weekend but remember, if it had been one of the Terry Pritchards or Malkie Coes of this world, they'd have had your balls in a vice so tight, Dempsey, you would be giving the Cardiff Welsh Boys Choir a run for their money." Spikings turned on Harry then. "And you, Makepeace, think you could handle it? The personal taunts? The threats made against him?" He nodded towards Dempsey._

_Harry looked away. "No Sir, I don't think I could," she answered honestly._

"_Good. That was the right answer. So you realise how crucial it is that this situation remains completely hush, hush."_

"_So what you're sayin'," said Dempsey, carefully, "is that you ain't gonna pull the plug on this."_

_Spikings' eyes narrowed. "Just so long as you both understand that should it all go tits up, I never knew a thing about it. I'm not putting my head on the chopping block for you, is that understood?"_

"_Perfectly, Sir," said Makepeace, smartly._

_Dempsey grinned. "No problem, Chief."_

_Spikings nodded his acknowledgement and took a fortifying swig of his Scotch. "So," he said to Dempsey, "six months. Some sort of a record for you I should imagine."_

"_You castin' aspersions on my good character?" he joked, elation beginning to kick in._

"_Yeees, that and Sergeant Makepeace's good taste but each to their own I suppose. Suffice it to say, if there are tears before bedtime, I don't want to be made aware of them and if I am, one of you will be transferred out quicker than that last Fulham striker."_

_He noticed the way Makepeace's eyes were shining. Let's just hope she was still this happy another six months down the line._

"_Thank you very much, Sir."_

_It was almost dark outside now but in the light of the outdoor lanterns strung up around the walled garden, Harry looked positively incandescent . It was nice to see. The girl was obviously in love. Just so long as the bloody Yank was too, they all might just scrape by._


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

When the doorbell rang, Harry's stomach began performing Olympian standard acrobatics. Sam had buzzed the car through the entrance gates a couple of minutes earlier and she had been waiting on tenterhooks. It couldn't be him, could it? It was just pure coincidence that Sam's security system should've gone down.

"That's got to be less than five minutes by my reckoning; this chap must've been round the corner," Sam laughed.

"Mm. Make sure you check his credentials then."

Sam gave her a wondering look. "You've got a suspicious mind."

"Doesn't hurt."

"I'll give him the third degree," he promised, leaving the room.

The moment he was out of the door, Harry rushed over to listen to the conversation taking place at the front door. But it was too far away and no matter how hard she strained her ears to hear, all sound had been dulled by the thumping of her heart. Tentatively she poked her head out into the long hallway and caught a glimpse of Sam going into a room directly off to the right of the front door. It had to be Dempsey - she just knew it. She took a step back and waited out of sight.

Several minutes went by until there came the rich harmony of male laughter. What were they talking about in there? When she heard Sam's metal segged shoes tapping back down the hallway, she quickly went and stationed herself by the sofa, brandy glass in hand.

"Everything sorted?" she asked brightly.

Sam shook his head. "Don't ask me. I've left him to it. He started explaining it to me but I got lost after 'defracted signal strength'. I think it basically boils down to a bad signal tripping everything out."

"Is it a big alarm system you've got then?" she asked innocently. In her last couple of visits to Sam's house, since Dempsey had brought the subject up in fact, Harry had found herself counting the cameras about the property and to be honest, it did seem a bit excessive. The video entry system at the electric gates, coupled with the same at the front door was probably the same level of security employed by some Hollywood film stars!

"Can't be too careful. I work quite a bit from home; the designs are by bread and butter so I can't afford to take any chances."

"So do you mean there's a real threat of designs being stolen? Has it ever happened?"

"Not yet and I'd like to see anybody try now."

But Dempsey had said all this security had only been installed a couple of months ago; if he'd never experienced a burglary, what had suddenly prompted him to splash out thousands? She didn't like to ask any more questions, after all, she wasn't meant to know anything about the heavy-duty security arrangements Dempsey had divulged.

Sam settled himself on the sofa, drawing an arm out along the back. "Come and sit down," he smiled invitingly. "I seem to remember we were in the middle of something."

Harry looked about for her clutch bag and found it on the little occasional table. "I think I'll just go and ... err ... freshen up a bit," she told him, grabbing it up and making for the door.

"Don't be long."

She gave him a warm smile and slipped into the hall.

_That bloody, infuriating, pain-in-the-arse Yank, dropping into her life again like this and making her doubt the authenticity of such a lovely guy and then having the cheek to turn up at his house! He'd obviously been following them; no doubt thought it hilarious that he was disrupting her evening._

Realising that she was actually running on tip-toes she slowed to a more sedate pace as she neared the door Sam had entered. It stood ajar and as she peered in, sure enough, she could see Dempsey sitting at a computer screen, shirtsleeves rolled up, glasses perched on his nose and typing with two fingers.

"And just what the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed in a voice barely above a whisper.

Although his features remained placid, Harry recognised the slight twitch of his mouth and the barely perceivable lifting of his left eyebrow as a sign of his genuine surprise at seeing her.

"Playin' Mister Fix-it," he answered calmly.

"And is there anything to fix?" she whispered angrily.

He shrugged. "Wouldn't of thought so."

"I don't know how you've got the nerve! This is absolutely none of your business, Dempsey."

Infuriatingly, he smiled. "Sure it is. Society Security is my business and I'm here checkin' out the system for my client."

"No, you're checking out the client!"

He appeared to be studying her. "Did I interrupt somethin'? You and Sam the Man?"

No!" she replied too quickly and too defensively.

Dempsey's finger came up to touch his upper lip. "Just that you got a little smudge of lipstick right there."

Much to her annoyance, Harry found herself raising her hand to her mouth automatically. "Anyway, what are you actually doing – besides invading Sam's privacy and breaking the law in the process that is?" She jerked open her clutch and extracted a mirror compact to examine her lipstick. But even as she did so she knew she'd been had. The staying power of the lipstick she was wearing was a feature of the product and therefore wouldn't have budged. He was regarding her over the top of his spectacles, his amused expression causing her perfectly make up lips to purse.

"Just streaming some digital video files to my ftp dropbox. Thought they might be worth a look through."

"You're spying on him, Dempsey! You just can't do that!" she exploded.

"Hey, hey, keep it down," he warned.

"And why should I? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't tell him what you're up to."

"Because, Lady Harriet," he hit a key and a series of files began transferring, "you're not one hundred percent sure of him either."

Harry bent forward to look at the screen over his shoulder. "I was until you stuck your nose in."

Her eyes wandered to the back of his head, to the hair touched by only a few silver strands. It gave her a strange feeling, to be so familiar with this sight; the shape of the head, the sweep of the neck, the angle at which he held his shoulders.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked, making her start.

"Don't change the subject."

"Don't evade the question," he returned.

She stood up straight again and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I've been busy."

"Too busy to pick up a phone?"

She sighed. "I'm seeing Sam. I don't think it'd be particularly fair of me to be going out to dinner with an old flame."

"Okay, that's fine," he said simply, surprising her.

"Well, I mean, it's not, is it ..." Harry leaned up against the desk and began absently inspecting the electronics paraphernalia Dempsey had strewn across it, " ... fair on Sam, I mean."

"No, you're right," he agreed. "If you and he are gettin' serious, I understand completely."

She couldn't resist looking into his eyes because she couldn't quite believe his sincerity somehow. "Lunch was great," she continued, "but ..."

She watched him push a memory stick into a port.

"But it was a one-off," Dempsey said, "for old times sake."

"Exactly."

He was downloading more files though what they might contain, she had no idea. "And let's face it, Makepeace, " he ejected the flash drive and sat back, swivelling the chair a few inches from left to right, " guys like Florence Llewelyn-Bowen out there don't come along every day."

His dead serious expression stopped her from exploding immediately but as the words sank in, her anger reared up.

"How dare you be so rude!" But then when a tiny smirk appeared on Dempsey's lips and he looked down at his hands, the words suddenly seemed to flip a switch and she too had to look away, masking a giggle by clearing her throat. "Stop it," she told him quietly," a hand to her mouth to cover the smile. "And I've told you, it isn't Makepeace."

Dempsey's eyes flicked to the door and Harry's followed.

"Here you are!" Sam came in carrying his brandy. "I was wondering where you'd got to."

"My fault," Dempsey put in, sitting forward. "I needed to ask a question and when I heard the lady out in the hall, I assumed she was your wife and dragged her in here." He met Harry's hard stare.

"It's all incredibly involved, isn't it?" she said lightly, turning to Sam. She glanced towards the row of four CCTV monitors on the far wall. "Big brother is watching you!"

Sam went over and put a territorial arm around Harry's waist and kissed her cheek. "I'm afraid it's the way of the world these days, darling. Isn't that right, Jim?"

"The more you've got, the more you've got to lose," he agreed.

Without letting go of Harry, he asked, "What was the question you had by the way?"

"Sorry?" said Dempsey, stalling whilst he tried to think up something suitable.

"What was it you'd been asking Harry about?"

"Oh, I just needed to get a signature," he improvised, "my work here is done."

"Ah ... right." He seemed nonplussed by the simplicity. "We're up and running again then?"

Dempsey produced an NCR job sheet and got Tate to sign whilst he packed the gadgetry away into a pilot case.

"Any problems," Dempsey told him, "you got my card. Feel free to ring me direct rather than goin' through Jersey. It was the guys on Jersey rang you tonight but obviously they route the job through to me."

Tate glanced at his watch – ten past eleven. "Sorry you got called out so late."

Dempsey merely shrugged. "The bad guys don't do nine 'til five."

They shook hands and then he turned to Harry, offering her his hand. "It was nice to meet you, ma'am."

"You too, Jim."

The artful pause before using his name didn't go unnoticed by Dempsey and he pressed her hand a little harder.

Tate saw him to the door and whilst he was gone, Harry quickly rang for a taxi from her mobile.

"I'm going to get off too, Sam," she told him brightly.

"Oh!" He looked crestfallen. "Well, if that's what you want. I'm really sorry about all this." He gestured towards the live PC monitor. "Sort of ruined the mood."

"It's okay. So I'll see you on Friday for the Valencia party then. I'll meet you there shall I?"

"Friday?" He put his arm around her to guide her out of the room. "I hope I'm going to see you before then."

"Actually Sam, I think I could do with a couple of early nights at some point this week and I'm out with Angela on Thursday." That last bit was only a partial lie – they were having lunch, not dinner.

"Harry!" he whined. "You're not really going to make me wait all that time, are you?"

Was something being implied there? Was he assuming that their next date would without question involve a sexual encounter or was she just being over-sensitive?

He leaned in to kiss her cheek.

" 'fraid so," she said lightly.

They were back in the lounge now and the kiss changed direction to cover her lips for a moment. "You could always have an early night here with me."

She knew beyond a doubt now that it wasn't what she wanted. "I've ordered a taxi."

Sam smiled his acceptance of her decision.

When the cab arrived a few minutes later, he lead her out to the turning circle of the courtyard to hand her in.

"I'll give you a ring before Friday," Harry promised, her mind partly on the fact that his lilac fitted shirt with a silver stripe was truly awful.

As she gave her address to the driver and sat back in the seat, a huge grin suddenly powerfully lightened both her face and mood. _Florence Llewelyn-Bowen!_


	31. Chapter 31

_Chapter 31_

_They were taking a break for an hour. Sitting by the window in Dempsey's front room, Harry was sprawled across his lap feeding him hot buttered toast._

"_It makes you look quite distinguished," she laughed, referring to the streak of white paint running through his hair at the right temple. "I could do the other side – even it up a bit," she suggested._

"_You're makin' me old before my time as it is! You can keep your paintbrush to yourself, Picasso."_

_They were spending the weekend decorating the bedroom – Harry's idea. It had also been Harry's idea that he should get a new bed and the skeletal brass frame was over in the corner, leaning up against the gym equipment, the mattress against the wall behind it. She had finally confessed a few days earlier that her reluctance to stop over at his flat was basically down to the thought of who else had 'stopped over' before her. A fresh quilt cover and ironed sheets wasn't quite enough to eradicate her tarnished mental concept of his bedroom being awash with bodily fluids. Whilst it was true there had been women in his bed, he knew the number would be nowhere near as high as she imagined – he'd always preferred to get himself an invite back to their place. It was so much easier to say goodbye when you could simply walk away the next morning._

_Harry took a bite out of the triangle of toast she held between her thumb and forefinger and with a small sigh, snuggled up against his chest. It was really too hot to be snuggling, but then, it was too pleasant an activity not to._

"_Looks like rain," she said, gazing out of the window._

"_Yep. Dark clouds a-gatherin'. Could be in for a storm later."_

"_Hope so. I love a good storm."_

_Dempsey smiled. They were doing that typically British thing - having a conversation about the weather; how cute was that? He lifted her hand and had another bite of toast himself._

"_Gets the old blood pumpin', huh?"_

"_Mm. You can actually feel the electricity sometimes, can't you?"_

"_Sure, if you go standin' under a tree."_

_Harry bounced in his lap to deaden his thigh._

"_Ahhg!" Dempsey winced._

"_You've got no soul," she complained._

"_Yeah? Well you know why that is?."_

"_Do tell."_

_He pulled himself up a little before thrusting his hand up under her baggy shirt and running light, nibbling fingers across her stomach, causing her to squeal._

" '_cause you sucked it right outta me, already," Dempsey growled. As his fingers began to probe more insistently, Harry's squeals deepened to uncontrollable throaty chuckling. "In fact," he rolled her under him into the chair, his body holding her down, "you're nothin' but a dirty, soul sucking little witch who deserves everything she's got comin' to her."_

_Harry was writhing beneath him now, seemingly in slow motion and the sounds that emanated from her were as of those from a creature possessed._

"_You wanna know what you got comin' to ya?" he goaded, enjoying the laughter that he saw frozen to her face in a rictus. All she could do was shake her head from side to side. "Well ..." he said, oh so softly. His hand moved away but both arms came up to fasten her hands to her sides and he began a new attack on the sensitive area at the side of her neck. His stubbled chin softly scoured the skin and his breath flowered gentle torture into her ear. "... you ain't gonna like it ..."_

_Harry slithered down off the chair and onto the floor in a bid to escape his torment. He followed. "You listenin', Harry?"_

_Listening? She was barely breathing!_

"_See, it goes a little somethin' like this ..."_

_Seizing both her wrists, he dragged her arms up over her head and pinioned them to the carpet with only his right hand._

"_James Dempsey – don't you dare ..." she screeched breathlessly in the few moments it took him to yank up her shirt._

_But he obviously dared and his mouth fell to her smooth, naked stomach to blow a scurrilously loud and gratifyingly long raspberry upon it._

_Her paralysed laughter was practically choking her and Harry's stomach muscles tautened and convulsed so drastically that Dempsey feared she was actually going to be sick._

"_You okay?" He let her go, grinning down into her hot, glowing face._

"_You absolute bastard," Harry gasped, lying quite exhausted now beneath him. Half heartedly, she swatted at his shoulder before pulling away the strands of damp hair from her face._

"_You know, you'd better hope that the villains of this fair city never get to hear about this weak spot of yours; a cop who can be tickled into submission just ain't cool."_

"_Believe it or not, Dempsey, being 'cool' isn't actually a prerequisite of being a cop. I know you think it is but it really isn't."_

"_What can I say? I'm blessed!"_

"_Are you going to let me up now?" she asked._

"_Kind of enjoyin' life from this angle." He gazed down contentedly._

_Harry managed to struggle up so she was lying back on her elbows. "Decorating!"_

"_We're on our lunchbreak."_

"_We've eaten."_

"_I'm still hungry, he told her, lecherously." Dempsey was raised up over her; he too was leaning on his elbows and his hands came together as he started to unbutton her shirt._

"_You've got a big appetite." She watched his fingers at work._

"_Heard you got a healthy appetite yourself, tiger – or unhealthy, dependin' on how you look at it."_

_Harry smiled. "Tell you what, let's finish the decorating, get the bed put together and then we can gorge ourselves."_

"_Ah, come on babe, there's no way we're gonna do all that this afternoon," Dempsey moaned._

"_Then we can put in some overtime. I'll bet we could be finished by ten o'clock."_

"_But it's Saturday," he protested, "we're supposed to be goin' out tonight."_

"_We don't have to." She brought her knees up, the better to accommodate his hips between her legs. "But of course, if you'd rather spend your evening getting progressively more pissed and being chatted up again by Henry, should we happen to bump into him, then that's up to you."_

"_Hey, is it my fault if Henry thinks I'm hot?"_

"_Or," Harry carried on, "we could put in a little bit of extra work, get a nice bottle of red and then christen that big brass bed of yours."_

_Dempsey played with a tendril of her hair. "I don't know, Harry," he said doubtfully. "Not goin' out on a Saturday night – like bein' some old married couple."_

_She smiled seductively. "I don't think old marrieds get up to what I have in mind for us."_

"_Oh yeah?" he grinned._

_But he wasn't stupid. It was a ready-made excuse for avoiding being seen out together, wasn't it. And maybe next weekend she'd suggest redecorating the rest of the apartment. But what was so ironic was that he didn't even want to redecorate, at least, not this place. They should be getting a place of their own, moving in together because it was time, it would feel right. Of course, that wasn't gonna happen this side of the millennium the way things were shaping up._

_Even the friends of Harry who they would've been seeing tonight weren't fully aware of their relationship. He got the impression there was a great deal of speculation; some seemed to think they were still dancing around each other and some assumed they just used each other for sex. The only one of them who knew the full story as far as he could tell was Angela Carstairs, Harry's closest friend. Angela was great, she understood and wasn't afraid to openly criticize the pair of them for their approach to the situation, not that it made a lot of difference._

_And now Spikings knew, in a way it had just made things worse. He had reinforced the need for secrecy and of course, Harry was now following his advice like it was the Holy Gospel. It was getting ridiculous. Was the job really worth all this, because that was what it came down to – the lousy SI-10 job. It was important to both of them, it was what made them who they were as individuals and as a couple – it had moulded them. But maybe now they could survive without it, maybe they were strong enough. Screw the job and screw Spikings; all he really needed was Harriet Makepeace._

_..._

_Harry had thought she might have precipitated an argument with the suggestion that they finish the bedroom tonight. The provocative 'old married couple' comment from James had been deflected easily enough but the fact that he'd said it at all had left her feeling apprehensive. Was he starting to get bored with their time alone together or did he resent the constraints having his partner as a girlfriend put on his social life? Was she tying him down? It wasn't as though he couldn't go out without her. They had been living in each others pockets in recent months and now they stayed in so much, maybe James felt smothered, weighed down by the baggage that came with their relationship. It just made things simpler not to be out together – lowering their resistance to each other with alcohol was putting temptation in their way. She suspected she could be a bit obsessive about it sometimes but the thought of something happening to him because some cheap little snout had seen an opportunity for making fifty quid; passing on what he'd witnessed to a psycho further up the criminal food chain, it was simply unbearable. She wanted him safe – she wanted them safe together. When Spikings had asked if she could handle the threats from the criminal fraternity, it had made her feel physically ill. She couldn't even handle the thought._

_Harry reached behind him to briskly slap his rear. "Come on then."_

_Reluctantly, Dempsey scrambled off her. He couldn't say no to Harry, no matter how much it may grieve him._


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

"May I speak to Dempsey, please?" Harry asked crisply.

"This is Mrs Cavanagh, I take it," came the deep, sonorous male voice. She could almost feel the contempt, crackling like static down the line.

"Yes, Mr Bell, it is." She matched his curtness.

There was a pause and more faintly this time, she heard him call out, "Hey, Dempsey, got the blue-blood bitch on the line."

Harry bristled. _Who did this man think he was exactly?_

"Yo!"

"Yo, yourself! What is his problem?" she asked angrily.

"Ah. You heard that, huh?"

"I was right, wasn't I? The man is an ape! Whatever you told him about me obviously made an impression although I fail to see how anything could account for such appalling rudeness ..."

"Yeah, I'm sorry ab ..."

"And you count this person as your closest friend, Dempsey?" she cut in. "I just hope I never have the misfortune to meet any of your acquaintances ..."

"Harry, I ..." he tried again.

"Does Julius Bell come with a public health warning?"

"Does Harry Cavanagh come with an 'off' button?" he yelled.

That silenced her.

"Do you wanna start this again?" Dempsey asked. "We could try out a few affable phrases on each other like, 'Hi, good mornin', it's great to hear from you' – get the idea?"

Harry struggled to get her temper reduced down to mere irritation. "I apologise," she said stiffly. "I just don't appreciate his attitude." She sighed then. "So how are you?"

"I'm good." She could hear the smile in his voice. "And you?"

"I _was_ fine. So. What deep, dark mystery haven't you uncovered?"

"Ahh. Sam the Man. You worried?"

"Not at all but seeing as you went to all that trouble on my behalf, I thought I might as well follow it up."

"Listen, contrary to what you might believe, I didn't know you were gonna be there, Harry."

"Whether you did or didn't is immaterial; it's more the flagrant abuse of trust that bothers me. To just turn up like that – without consulting me first and expecting me to keep my mouth shut ..."

"Yeah, should've realised how hard that part would be for you."

"Do you want me to hang up?" she growled.

"Okay if I treat that as a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card?"

"Don't push your luck."

He chuckled before attempting to get back on track. "I was gonna call you only you never gave me your number."

"Didn't I?" she asked, with careful indifference. "So anyway – you haven't come up with a thing have you?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"Oh?" Harry asked apprehensively.

"You wanna come over?"

"Well, I would only I don't have a car at the moment; Ed's borrowed mine for the day because his has gone in for a service. Can't you tell me over the phone?"

"No, I gotta show it to you – it's from the c.c.t.v footage."

Harry waited. "Well go on," she prompted, "what is it?"

"I'm not sure. There's a guy – looks real familiar but I can't quite place him."

She tutted. "And that's it, is it? A 'guy' who you may or may not have come across before has visited Sam's house so therefore it's a cause for concern."

"No, I'm talkin' from a long time ago, like our era, when we were busy chasin' scum around London."

"But you have absolutely no idea who," she replied flatly.

"I was hopin' the face'd ring a bell with you."

"And if it doesn't? Will you admit that Sam's on the level?"

"Maybe. But where that shirt he was wearin' on Monday night is concerned, Florence is still guilty as charged, M'lady."

"Please don't call him that, Dempsey." She was aiming for cold aloofness only the giggle that stirred somewhere within her stomach had most likely put paid to that.

"Wouldn't've had him down as your type, is all."

"But you wouldn't know my type."

"You know mine," he baited.

"Mm. I would think 'female' just about covers it."

"And just because you fall into that category, Mrs Cavanagh, don't go gettin' no ideas."

"Fresh out of ideas, I'm afraid." And then briskly she said, "I think we're getting a bit off-track here. Are you serious about recognising this chap from the c.c.t.v film?"

"The nose, knows."

"It's most likely a summer cold, Dempsey," she derided, gently. "But if you really think it's worth my taking a look, you'd better come over here."

...

Sweat stood out on her face and she could feel rivulets running down her neck and between her breasts. It was really much too hot to be doing this sort of thing. She'd lost control of her breathing and her chest was tight and burning now.

Nearly there.

Harry dragged herself around the gatepost and continued the final, torturous hundred yards up the driveway, pushing herself into a run.

As her eyes tried to focus on the front door up ahead, she realised that her view was obscured – by Dempsey and he too was running – towards her – with his arms outstretched. The music from her ipod blaring in her ears combined with a lack of oxygen, threw her and by the time she had registered what was happening and decided she should call a halt, it was too late and momentum had pushed her on and into his arms.

She gasped, feeling her feet leave the ground and her remaining breath leave her body as he swung her up.

"We may be missin' the sand and the sea but the sun is shinin' and you're still a perfect ten, Princess."

"Dempsey! Put me down," she said severely, pushing down against the forearms that encircled her waist.

As he set her down on the brick paved drive, his mouth was dangerously close to hers. She pushed the flat of her hands hard against his chest.

"Get off, you idiot!" An unwanted smile curved her lips. "I'm all sweaty," she panted, yanking the earphones from her ears.

Dempsey grinned back at her. "So I noticed," he replied, lasciviously.

"Anyway," Harry asserted herself, "you're much too early. We said three."

Dempsey checked his watch and shrugged. "Ten minutes."

Frowning, she looked at her own watch and made a face. "Ah. I think it's stopped. I thought it was half past one when I left – obviously it wasn't."

He raised his hands in a 'can't be helped' gesture.

"Come on then." Harry looked him up and down, hands on her hips. "You can organise something long and ice-cold whilst I take a shower."

"How 'bout we keep it simple and both of us take an ice-cold shower," he said conversationally as Harry opened the front door with the key she had produced from her ipod armband. She went in ahead of him and he took the opportunity to check out her rear in those black lycra capri pants as he stooped to pick up the laptop case from the doorstep. She definitely still took care of herself.

Harry nodded towards the kitchen at the end of the hallway as she headed up the stairs. "I'm sure you'll manage to find everything. I won't be long."

"Fine. Just gimme a shout if you need anythin' exfoliating or scrubbing; I'm a dab hand with a loofa."

Harry sighed wearily from the top of the stairs. "I knew you wouldn't let me down, Dempsey."

He chuckled to himself as he went through and began rummaging through the cupboards and fridge.

But inside three minutes, Harry was back downstairs, dressed in nothing, it appeared but a thin cotton jersey robe.

"Bloody shower isn't working," she ground, clearly aggrieved.

She went to a wide kitchen drawer beneath one of the top units and yanked it open.

Want me to take a look?" Dempsey asked.

"I think I can manage to change a fuse."

"How d'you know it's the fuse?"

"Well obviously I don't but it's a starting point, isn't it," she snapped, pulling out a screwdriver with a triumphant expression on her still glistening face.

"True," he acknowledged, watching Harry mumbling curses under her breath as she continued to search through the contents of the drawer.

Quietly, he made an exit.

Finally, Harry accepted that the drawer was a spare-fuse-free-zone and stamped back upstairs, screwdriver clutched like a dagger in her hand to find Dempsey in the bathroom, sitting on the end of the bath.

"I think I can fix it without too much of a problem."

Harry swept her hand towards the shower cubicle. "Then please, be my guest."

Dempsey stood up, flexing his fingers as he did so. "Okay, stand back, give the man a little room here."

He walked right up to the cubicle but then took a couple of steps to the left to view it from another angle. Then a few paces to the right with his hand cupping his chin as he seemed to be studying the shower itself.

"Whatever are you doing?"

He then went to the heated towel rail, held up his forefinger and bend forward from the waist to ceremoniously flick down the power switch on the wall. Instantly, powerful needle-sharp jets of water issued forth, leaving Harry's already glowing face now quite red.

"I'm sayin' nothin', Harry, okay?" This is me, standin' here sayin' nothin'." But his grin said it all for him anyway.

"But I never switch it off at the wall!" she protested. "It must've been Lydia." Harry replied to his querulous look by explaining that Lydia was Ed's girlfriend who sometimes stopped over.

Dempsey grinned. "If it's any consolation, the fuse woulda been my next guess, after the power switch that is."

But Harry's attention seemed to be focussed elsewhere. "Can you hear something?" she asked dubiously.

"Such as?" He was listening too now and there was no mistaking the footsteps and a strange soft sliding noise on the tiled hall.

They looked at each other.

"Couldn't be Ed comin' home?" he whispered, already heading for the door.

Harry shook her head. "Way too early," she whispered back and squeezed herself out ahead of him.

There came the faint sound of whistling: _Der Vogelfanger bin ich ja _from Mozart's _The Magic flute_.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she said aloud before turning back to Dempsey. "It's alright, it's Philip."

_But it really wasn't alright; Philip was the last person she wanted here at the moment._

"Do you want to just ..."

Strangely flustered in Dempsey's eyes, she pushed him back a couple of steps into the bathroom. "I'll get rid of him. I won't be a minute," and she flew off downstairs.

_He couldn't see the problem; what did it matter if he met Harry's ex-husband, they'd been divorced five years! _

So unheedingly, he followed her back down.

The whistling had stopped and he entered the lounge just in time to see an extremely ruffled Harry being embraced by a tall, slim, angular looking city gent, impeccably dressed and still managing to look completely cool and unfazed by the heat.

However, the sight of Dempsey seemed to stop him in his tracks. There was an embarrassing moment in which he regarded Harry's attire, her tousled appearance and her damply glowing skin and came to a rather obvious conclusion. And all three of them saw it.

"I didn't realise you had ... ah ... company. Didn't mean to barge in ... it's just that your car wasn't on the driveway so I assumed you were out."

Philip's eyes rested on Dempsey again and Dempsey smiled understandingly whilst he waited for Harry to make the introductions. This she failed to do, instead, taking Philip by the arm and guiding him past Dempsey and back to the door.

"Edward has my car. His is at the garage. It's a couple of years since it had a good service."

Dempsey's hand went to his mouth to wipe at the grin that had manifested itself at those last few words. Although she gave no outward sign, he was sure that she was painfully aware of what she'd just said.

"Thanks for dropping the tent and everything round." She looked towards the camping equipment he'd stashed in the corner. "I think it's next weekend, this festival he's going to."

"I believe so." Cavanagh flicked a look towards Dempsey again.

"I'll get Ed to ring you, shall I?"

"Yes, yes, if you would."

"Nice to have almost met you," Dempsey called out as Harry ushered Philip through the door.

Something seemed to alter Philip's whole demeanour then and he froze like a statue, staring back at Dempsey with darkened eyes before lowering them to Harry.

The fear he saw in her astounded him.

"Please don't tell me this is him," Cavanagh warned in a voice so cold that Dempsey felt himself tense.

She lifted her chin but said nothing.

"Have I missed somthin' here?" Dempsey asked warily.

Cavanagh ignored him and continued to stare fiercely at Harry. "Well?"

She nodded.

Philip Cavanagh strode back into the room, as sinewy as a big cat stalking its prey. "Lieutenant James Dempsey."

"As was – I'm just plain ol' 'mister' these days." He said flippantly. Whatever that look was saying, he just wasn't getting it. But her ex evidently knew who he was and not in a good way..

"So you and Harry," Phil raised his eyebrows, looking with exaggerated innocence between the pair of them, "you're back together? Hmm? After all these years," he said with a pseudo fondness.

"No Phil, we're not," Harry spoke softly but deliberately.

"No?" he asked lightly. "Pretty hard to believe, darling ... you standing there all lathered up like a little filly. You look completely 'spent'." He smiled grimly.

"Hey, hey!" Dempsey put in. "She just told you, we ain't together."

Cavanagh rounded on him. "So it was just a quickie, for old times sake, was it? Any good? Was she as good as you'd remembered?"

Dempsey's fists clenched.

Harry put a hand on Cavanagh's arm "Please don't, Phil," she said with desperation ringing in her tone. "I've been out for a run. I was about to take a shower. That's all, honestly."

Dempsey didn't understand why Harry was bothering to defend herself.

Phil slipped an arm about her shoulders. "She's always been very honest with me, possibly too honest for her own good, James. But then, if you don't have honesty in a relationship, you're sunk – aren't you?"

Dempsey stood his ground, feeling confused. "If you got a problem with me bein' here, then you need to explain it to me 'cause I don't think I'm seein' the full picture, Phil." He spoke calmly, keeping it together for Harry's sake but that didn't mean he appreciated the abusive way in which he had spoken to her.

"I wonder if you ever will ..." and then swiftly he turned to Harry. "Don't look so worried, darling, I always have been and always will be, your loyal servant." He smiled.

Harry looked at him uncertainly as he continued. "Do as you please; I know you will anyway. Just do me the courtesy of keeping me informed, that's all I ask."

"I will. I'm sorry," she answered humbly.

Cavanagh made for the door. "I'd like to say it was nice to meet you," he said to Dempsey, "only it really wasn't."

Harry followed him out to the front door but it slammed behind him so quickly there had obviously been no further conversation between them.

When she came back, she remained standing in the doorway, trying to gauge Dempsey's reaction. More than anything, she wanted him to hold her, she wanted to feel secure and protected in his arms but he was too full of questions to see that and she had no right to expect it of him anyway.

"Can I ask you somethin', Harry?" he said with a frown. "I know it's none of my business but call me an interested party."

"What?" she asked thickly.

"Do you and he still have a little somethin' goin' on the side?"

"Of course not! I've already told you, Phil has never quite got the hang of divorce, that's all."

"And how come he's got such a downer on me? And he knew my name – how did he know who I was?"

"Your accent?" she smiled wanly. "I'm going up for that shower then." She turned to go but Dempsey stopped her.

"Wait a minute, Harry." So I've got an American accent – don't explain how he knew who I was. I haven't seen you in twenty-three years but your ex-husband knows me? How does that work?"

"Dempsey," Harry said awkwardly, "when I met Philip, I wasn't ... ready. You were still there whether I liked it or not – whether he liked it or not but he was prepared to wait until I was ...over you."

The admission surprised Dempsey. She had kept her silence whilst he told her of the problems he'd had back in New York and had assumed that for her, out of sight had meant out of mind. But maybe she'd suffered too, maybe she'd grieved.

"You figured quite heavily in our formative months together," she added, almost shyly.

Dempsey shuffled uncomfortably. "No wonder the guy hates me, huh?"

"You're a ghost from the past – he was upset."

He covered the few steps that separated them. "And you?" He touched a finger momentarily to her nose. "You okay?"

Harry swallowed. _It would be so easy to give in to her feelings right now; to accept the comfort he was quite clearly willing to offer._

Forcing an element of surprise into her reply, she told him, "I'm fine."

"So go get yourself cleaned up, Tiger."

Their eyes lingered warmly on each other until Harry finally broke away. "Won't be long."


	33. Chapter 33

WARNING – There's a dark aspect to this chapter with sexual content. There's a chance it may cause offence to the more sensitive souls among us so you have been warned.

_Chapter 33_

"_Aitch, you mind if I ask you something?" said Angela._

_Harry took a sip of her Champagne. "Why do I get the feeling you're going to ask anyway, regardless of my answer?" she smirked._

"_James," Angela said flatly._

"_Hm. Now there's a surprise."_

_They were in the grounds of Mulhaven House, the guests of Lord and Lady Castleton who were hosting the annual 'Pyewacket Summer Party'. Each year had a different colour as its theme and this year, the lawns were awash with every conceivable shade of blue._

"_Go on then, ask away," said Harry, resignedly._

"_What would you do if this was a weekend party?"_

"_What would I do? I don't follow."_

"_About James – what would you do about James?"_

_Harry shook her head. "Nope – still don't follow."_

"_The sleeping arrangements?"_

"_Ah." She looked down into her flute glass. "Well, fortunately there are carriages at midnight so I don't have to worry about that, do I?"_

_Angela frowned. "You shouldn't have to worry about it at all, darling."_

"_Especially when I've got you to do that for me," Harry pointed out._

"_I just don't think you're being very fair to him."_

"_I've told you, Angela," groaned Harry, "that doesn't even enter into it. Walk a mile in my shoes, as they say; there are people we know, people we deal with who could do a lot of damage if they knew about James and me. The criminal element doesn't confine itself to the back streets of the East End you know. It's safer this way."_

"_He feels you're rejecting him," Angela blurted out._

_Harry smiled, tilting her head curiously. "What's he been saying?"_

"_Just reading between the lines."_

_Harry threw her head back with a laugh. "I know your lines; any wider apart and you'd be able to drive a double decker bus between them."_

"_Come on, Harriet, give the poor man a break; he's obviously besotted with you and you insist on holding him at arms length as though he's just some randy admirer."_

"_Only in public – at home he's my randy boyfriend."_

"_Now there!" Angela stabbed the air with a finger. "That speaks volumes. You said at 'home', not in 'private'."_

"_I don't see the difference."_

"_Home implies togetherness – intimacy."_

"_My point."_

"_And mine. You can't keep a serious relationship compartmentalised like that."_

"_Aren't I rather proving that you can?"_

"_Maybe you should be asking James that question."_

"_Angela," said Harry, exasperated with her friend, "we really don't have a choice."_

"_So you keep saying but at some stage, aren't you going to have to decide which is more important – your career or your partner? What about marriage; what about children – you're not getting any younger, you know."_

"_Thanks!"_

"_You can't tell me that neither of those things has ever crossed your mind."_

"_Dempsey with a wedding ring on his finger, pushing a pram –I don't think so, somehow." Harry scoffed._

"_I'm telling you, Aitch, he'd do anything for you."_

"_You don't make commitments like that to please someone else. And besides, I've already had a wedding ring and it didn't fit, remember?"_

_Angela accepted a fresh glass from a passing waiter and held her tongue whilst Harry too exchanged her empty glass. "You haven't had a baby though and marriage isn't exactly obligatory these days."_

_Harry found herself astounded by the leaps Angela was making._

"_The phrase, 'foot lose and fancy free' was invented for Dempsey!"_

"_You've been together for seven months – sounds to me like he's a changed man."_

"_Angela – stop!" Harry spluttered into her glass. "Marriage and babies – happy families – it's not really what James and I are about."_

"_So it's purely the sex," she quipped, "which is still rather good, I take it?"_

"_It isn't just the sex," Harry said in hushed tones, "although it has to be said," she drew a breath and let it out again in a rush of slightly embarrassed laughter, " it is bloody wonderful. James certainly has a God-given talent in that department."_

"_Even after seven months! I'm jealous beyond words. No wonder you're happy to spend your nights in with him."_

"_It's not like we never go out," Harry protested with a note of defensiveness that was duly noted by her friend. "It's just when we do, we're careful not to..." she sought for the correct terminology, "well, you know, 'slorm' over each other."_

_Angela nodded sagely. "I've noticed. Don't know how you manage it though – you being such a slut."_

_Harry almost choked on her Champagne. "What?" she laughed._

"_A knee-trembler behind the back of a nightclub? You're a very naughty girl, Lady Harriet."_

"_Oh, that." Harry blushed faintly. "I wish I'd never told you now."_

"_Dirty Harry, indeed."_

"_And I also wish I'd never told you that."_

_They laughed easily together and then remained silent for a few moments as they surveyed the groups of bodies before them. They themselves were stood a little way from the lawns, by the house itself on a high pathway, half hidden by a rockery. It was an ideal 'people watching' spot._

"_Is that Marianne Cottesmore I can see over there?" Angela asked. "Good grief, it is! She looks like a whale in that frock!"_

"_I don't think blue is quite her colour," Harry replied rather more diplomatically._

"_I seem to remember one of us saying that about the green, last year."_

"_Ah, yes," mused Harry, "and you said she looked like, 'the grassy knoll'."_

"_Did I? How very witty of me. Must've been much later on in the day – I never manage to say anything clever until I've had a few."_

_It was coming up to two-thirty and they had both been here for a little over two hours, Angela and Roger having arrived just a few minutes ahead of Harry and James. Roger was Angela's older brother; with Mike being away, working overseas, the invitation had fallen to him. In Harry's view, the siblings were more like twins and an absolute scream of a double act when they got together. She had been gratified to see Roger and James hit it off and now the pair of them, along with Freddie who had turned up earlier were in the house, having a 'quiet cigar' as her father had put it, in the billiard room. Quite why men felt it necessary to smoke indoors on a perfectly lovely day like today, Harry had never been able to fathom but that was tradition for you._

"_So are you saying there's no future in it?" Angela asked suddenly._

"_No future in what?" She was caught up watching the progress of Lance and Sarah Goodbody as they made their way to the marquee. She'd been given to understand by a concerned party that Sarah had been discovered playing away recently so was quite surprised to see them here together. _

_She was about to pass comment when Angela said, "You and James."_

_She hadn't really been listening but as the words came together in her mind, she looked at Angela, suddenly unnerved. "I don't know... I don't really want to think about it."_

_Angela read the panic in her eyes. "Aitch, darling – I really think you should."_

_..._

_From where he stood at the elevated ground floor window of the billiard room, Dempsey was able to see Angela and Harry as they stood talking together on the pathway. He had a half smile on his lips as he took in Harry's slender form, draped in a diaphanous, shimmering sky blue dress. It swept the floor, hugging the curves of her figure like a second skin and he could hardly take his eyes off her. _

_He suddenly became aware of somebody standing behind him and turned his head away to find a short, stocky, blond haired man of around fifty, watching through the window with him._

"_Quite lovely, isn't she?" the man asked, still watching._

"_Harry or Angela?" Dempsey asked, curious to know the man's interest in either of them._

"_Lady Harriet."_

"_Yeah." He turned around fully to face Harry's admirer. "Yeah, she is."_

_The blond man stuck out his hand. "William Penrice, Mr Dempsey."_

_Dempsey took his hand, smiling inquiringly. "I think you got the advantage here, Mr Penrice."_

"_I've known both Lord Winfield and his daughter for many years – I'm the family's solicitor."_

"_Ah, I see. Good to meet you... I guess; just that in my line of work, lawyers tend to make me a little jumpy. They have this nasty habit of getting bad guys off the hook."_

_Penrice tossed a foppish lock of blond hair to the side. "Then let me assure you, I have no dealings with criminal law; I only serve the administrative interests of my clients."_

"_So, you Lord and Lady Castleton's solicitor too?"_

"_No, not I, I'm afraid but we tend to mix in the same circles and I was fortunate enough to have an invitation extended to me."_

"_I met them for the first time this afternoon – nice people." Dempsey took a sip of the single malt he had in his hand._

"_Very nice, yes." Briefly, he gazed out of the window again. "So, Lord Winfield was telling me earlier that you're a colleague of Lady Harriet's – her partner, in fact."_

"_That's right. We've worked together for... let's see now," he thought back to the time when he'd first set foot on British soil, " three, almost four years."_

"_No plans to go back to the United States then?"_

"_Hopin' to go back real soon as it goes but only for a visit; I'm happy where I am."_

"_Yes," Penrice looked up at Dempsey, a quick smile tightening his jaw, "I should imagine you are."_

_There was an effeminacy about Penrice that Dempsey found distasteful; the cologne was too sweet, the face too shiny and the blue silk cravat was just too much._

"_England's a great place, once you get used to the rain – raindrop dodging is practically a sport here, huh?"_

"_We're having an excellent summer so far, exceptionally good in fact."_

"_I'm told it's just a blip," Dempsey said. He had the distinct impression that Penrice had something he wanted to get off his chest._

"_Still, England definitely has its' attractions, as you seem to be fully aware." Another glance out of the window clarified Dempsey's suspicions – the man wanted to assess his relationship with his client, Lady Harriet, from a purely professional point of view. Lord Winfield had obviously mentioned his daughter's guest and the little creep had taken it upon himself to check him out – protecting his own interests, no doubt._

"_Still haven't gotten around to The Tower of London," Dempsey said, blithely, fixing Penrice with a hard eye. "I should really get Harry to take me."_

_Aware that the American was now on his wavelength, Penrice swiftly moved on._

"_I've known Lady Harriet all her adult life, of course. I've always handled her affairs," he told Dempsey, rather pointedly._

"_And I'm sure you've handled them admirably."_

Keep your cool, Dempsey – keep it friendly,

_William Penrice ran a chubby hand over the blue cummerbund straining about his girth. "His Lordship worries so – understandably; she's a very desirable young woman, beautiful, intelligent, wealthy... A fatal combination one might say."_

_Dempsey studied the end of his cigar. "Well, if you backtrack to the part about her bein' intelligent, that should set his mind at ease. Don't you think?"_

"_One would hope so." He took a delicate sip from the hi-ball glass he held. Pimm's and lemonade, Dempsey decided, or something equally fruity. "You were told of the divorce last year?_

"_Came up in conversation, yeah."_

_Harry's Decree Absolute had come through early last year; she'd invited him out with a large group of friends for a celebratory drink – really tied one on that weekend as he recalled._

"_I really shouldn't be telling you this," he continued, "you probably aren't aware, but Robert Makepeace got his solicitor to go for a settlement. Thought being in the profession himself, he couldn't fail."_

_Dempsey showed no reaction – just took another drink._

"_I made damned sure he didn't get a bean," his eyes moved over Dempsey with belligerence, "or indeed, a red cent as you Americans might say."_

_Dempsey felt a little tick start up at the back of his jaw. So that was it, Penrice was warning him off the Winfield fortune. He looked at Dempsey and saw the proverbial American Gigolo; not only was that insulting to him, it was insulting to Harry too._

_He smiled pleasantly – and that cost him. "You know, I read a book once." He paused, implying it was the one and only time. "There was a line that went, 'Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt, without being charming. This is a fault.' His eyes challenged those of Penrice._

_Evidently Penrice was surprised by Dempsey's literary knowledge. "Oscar Wilde?"_

"_Yeah. A Picture of Dorian Gray."_

"_Of course! A masterpiece."_

"_I found it a little gay," emphasis on 'gay', "and creepy," emphasis on 'creepy'._

_Penrice blanched, not only at his words but also at the cold hatred in Dempsey's eyes._

"_It was an experience to meet you Mr Penrice but let's hope it doesn't happen again, huh?"_

_He clamped his cigar between his teeth, looked down contemptuously at the stunned and slightly embarrassed solicitor and strode out of the billiard room in search of more civilized company._

_..._

He was in the hotel they'd booked into for the night of the Pyewacket Party – no, it was a church, definitely a church but there was country and western music playing. He looked towards the alter where a large group was gathered around a mechanical bull, cheering and clapping as a rider skilfully mastered the furiously jerking electric beast. He recognised Spikings in the crowd, wearing a Stetson hat. There were others he knew; Angela Carstairs, Jessop, the Estate Manager of Winfield Hall who stood with a shotgun broken over the crook of his arm, that solicitor, William Penrice, Foley, the janitor from his apartment building, some of the guys from work. His mother and father...

"Are you watching, Jimmy?" his father called as he got astride the bull. He suddenly got an up-close view of the tattoo on his father's arm, Donn, the Brown Bull of Ulster that had been there since before Dempsey had even been thought of. "I'm not convinced you're a real man, you see," Michael Dempsey laughed, raucously. "Are you hearin' me Jimmy, boy?"

His mother looked on fearfully as her husband rode the mechanical bull effortlessly.

"Come on, son, you're up next. You think you can handle it, do ya?"

Dempsey discovered he didn't have the power of speech but that didn't really surprise him.

The music was getting louder now, carnival music for a moment then back to something familiar he knew he should recognise.

More clapping and appreciative shouts of encouragement as Harriet Makepeace emerged from the crowd. She was stunning – radiantly beautiful in an optic white Lycra catsuit, a half smile tainting her lips.

She placed her hands on her hips and looked him up and down, lasciviously. "Come on then, James. Are you ready?"

Dumbly, he followed her to the alter, conscious of the way her hips swayed so provocatively, the way her hair shone like a blonde halo about her head.

Michael Dempsey had disappeared, leaving the mechanical bull vacant and stationary. Slowly, Harry threw her leg across and climbed astride, her back ramrod straight as her hands firmly grasped the front of the leather saddle. Dempsey knew he had to join her – he had no choice, so he got up behind her, hanging his arms around her waist.

"HANDS!" cried the congregation, forcing Dempsey to let go. He watched the fingers of her left hand curl under the leather handgrip, her right arm rose up and her torso relaxed. The bull suddenly reared up sharply, throwing him off balance so that he reflexively made a grab for Harry again.

"NO!" Harry cried out. "Don't touch me!" She wriggled out of his grasp. "Get your hands off me, I don't want you to touch me."

Her fingernails raked at his forearm and he heard her grunt as she lost her balance for a moment and was jerked backwards against him. Again, he tried to hang onto her. He could see the deep welts in his arm, the trickling blood.

"Oh, don't be so pathetic," she barked. "People are watching."

Her thighs squeezed the sides of the bull hard and she was laughing now, enjoying the mastery she had over the situation.

Dempsey was slipping... falling away...

...

_He awoke feeling dazed._

_He was hard, his body glazed with sweat. The curtains of the hotel room were drawn back and in the light of the crescent moon he turned to see Harry asleep on her back beside him, her arms raised, hands lightly clenched into fists by the sides of her head in child-like repose._

_Dempsey rolled over, crawling on top of her, his hands clamping around her wrists to slide her arms higher as he took her. He heard her gasp, felt her tense beneath him. His hips bore down upon her relentlessly and there was nothing in his head, just this bestial urge in his bones and some rudimentary kick of unacknowledged satisfaction._

_She enjoyed inflicting her mental torment. She liked to hurt him because it amused her. She liked to see him being eaten alive by his need for her. _

_Bitch! Cruel bitch._

_He could hear their breathlessness and the quick, insistent smack of wet skin like a fiery itch being scratched. He felt her slick limbs flexing and straining against him and in the distance, almost beyond his sphere of understanding came her deep, tortured cries. But he couldn't stop. There was a sweetness there, a righteousness that enfolded him even as his mind struggled to surface from the remnants of the dream._

_He released a desperate, guttural sound against her damp, perfumed hair as he finished and he felt her rigid body suddenly grow limp under him._

"_I couldn't stop, baby," he whimpered. "I'm so sorry... I couldn't stop."_

_What had he done? What had he done to her?_

_But then he heard Harry laugh – a soft, girlish giggle. Her moist, hot hands pressed flat to his cheeks. "But I didn't need you to."_

"_I'm... Sweetheart, I'm sorry." His mind was racing along with his heart and he couldn't grasp what she was saying._

"_I didn't need you to stop, silly."_

_In the semi-light, Dempsey could see her glowing cheeks and the sweat that stood out on the fine, transparent hair of her upper lip. "That was amazing," she purred._

_Dempsey smiled down at her weakly, suddenly overcome with fatigue. "Harry..."_

"_What?" she asked, amused by the confused look on his face._

"_Yeah," he agreed quietly, "yeah, it was amazing."_

_But what he'd thought he had done during those few insane minutes had felt so very far from amazing._


	34. Chapter 34

_I think I maybe ruffled a few feathers with Chapter 33. Yes, it was a very dark and upsetting end to the chapter but our lovely Dempsey is not a rapist. In his confused state between the nightmare and consciousness, he felt he'd lost control. At no time did Harry voice any objection to what was taking place and she was obviously unaware of his thoughts and fears– it was completely consensual. Dempsey would never have intentionally done anything to hurt his beloved Harry, despite his present problems in the handling their relationship... so there!_

_The next two chapters are in the 'now' just to lighten the mood a bit ;-)_

_With thanks to Haveunotthought for the guesswork which lead to 'camera seven'._

Chapter 34

Harry was a good twenty minutes getting ready - not that it mattered.

Whilst he waited, he made them tall glasses of lime cordial and filled them with ice before setting up his laptop on the coffee table in the lounge. And after that, he spent a few minutes studying the pictures on the walls, handling the few, select ornaments around the room and trying to decide whether they had been Harry's choice or Philip Cavanagh's.

Dempsey had felt completely in the dark as far as that relationship went. It had seemed relatively straightforward when Harry had explained the situation to him and yet seeing them together this afternoon had made him think there was something amiss. Cavanagh still had a 'thing' for her – that much was obvious and Harry hadn't tried to deny it but there was something else, some tie he had to her. Probably Cavanagh had been her emotional crutch like Julius had been his. When you laid bare your soul to somebody, they owned a piece of it forever and a divorce couldn't alter that, no matter how much you wanted that piece back. Maybe Harry had just felt embarrassed by the two of them being in the same room together; brought it all back – how much she had relied on Cavanagh because of him.

She swept into the room, looking cool and relaxed now in a coral vest top and grey sweatpants. Her feet were bare and she was eating an apple.

"Want one?" she asked, holding it aloft.

He shook his head, smiling. It was nice she could be like this around him; he didn't want her standing on ceremony. Of course, might be she just didn't think he was worth making the effort for...

He let out an unconscious chuckle.

"Something amusing you?" Harry asked.

"Not really."

He hefted a heavy, bulbous bird sculpture he held in the palm of his hand. It was clean and white; very abstract and simplistic but there was something quite charming about it.

"It's a dove," said Harry as he replaced it, "in case you were wondering."

"Bird of peace – I like it."

"Jay made it at school when she was about fifteen."

"Yeah? Kid's got talent."

Harry reached down to the side of the sofa for her handbag. "Let's get down to business then shall we?" she said, extracting a pair of reading glasses.

Dempsey sat beside her at the coffee table, the laptop before them.

"Okay, let's see what we got here." He'd already found the file he wanted so it was just a matter of hitting a key. "You ain't gonna give me a hard time if this turns out bad?"

"I thought, according to you, it already was bad – practically a foregone conclusion. Having second thoughts?"

The screen went straight into an image of Sam Tate opening his front door.

"When was this?" Harry asked.

"Nearly a month ago."

"What time was it taking place?"

Dempsey slid a finger to the bottom left of the screen. "Here. Date, time, duration, time elapsed."

There were three men in shot, all dressed in suits.

"So which one am I looking at?" asked Harry.

"Just watch. I wanna get an unbiased opinion off of you."

"Unbiased? You're trying to discredit my paramour here, Dempsey," she drawled with honeyed sarcasm.

His shoulders rolled in silent laughter. "Don't ask me why but 'paramour' just seems to fit the bill."

Harry glanced at him sharply before giving her full attention to the screen again. "Right. I see three men, respectably dressed. The one in the middle maybe mid to late forties, the other two both under thirty."

Sam shook hands with the older man who crossed over the threshold, followed by the other two men. The image cut to another camera down the hallway and Harry reached for her lime juice, drinking most of it down without taking her eyes from the screen. The men walked in pairs: Sam and the older man appeared to be chatting amicably, the two younger men solemn and silent behind.

"Wonder what's in the briefcase," Harry mused, leaning forward when she caught a glimpse of what one of the men was carrying.

Dempsey didn't reply.

"There's another camera at the far end of the hall," said Harry. "Is there..." The picture cut again, this time to a view of them walking towards a camera and Harry was able to see all their faces quite clearly as they passed into the lounge.

Harry shook her head uncertainly. "Well, obviously we're looking at the older guy. The two heavies would've been in nappies if we'd had any dealings with them." She tapped a finger to her lips. "Can you bring up a still image – close in on his face? I really don't think I recognise him." She looked at Dempsey with a half smile. "Sorry," she said with syrupy sweetness.

Wordlessly, Dempsey leaned in, backed up the footage and zoomed in.

"Nope," Harry shrugged. "Never seen him before."

Give yourself a minute."

With a stoical sigh, Harry shuffled herself forward to the edge of the sofa and rested her forearms on her knees. Involuntarily, her head cocked to the right. Was there something around the eyes that brought a flicker of remembrance?

"Harry?" Dempsey asked, noticing the heightened awareness in her body language.

"No." She shook her head. "You've planted the seed in my mind and now I'm looking for something that isn't there."

"You sure?" He kicked the image into slow motion and Harry watched the man's features mobilize.

"I don't know. Maybe." For the briefest of moments her mind pared away the wrinkles and greying hair, stripped him of his excess poundage and dressed him in shellsuit and trainers.

She continued to stare fixedly at the screen. "I don't know," she repeated.

"But there's something, right?"

"Run it again," she commanded, her chin now resting in her hand.

Dempsey obliged. It happened again at the exact same place in the footage; that tiny spark of recognition.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" Dempsey pushed. "Yes, you know him?"

"He would've been a kid though, wouldn't he? Early twenties at the most." Harry sat back, indicating she was bored with the proceedings although she couldn't quite drag her eyes away from the screen. "And anyway, what exactly does it prove?"

"That shot of them on camera two, Sam and this guy and the other two behind... remember what you said – what your initial reaction was? - 'cause it was exactly the same as mine."

He played it over again. "You said 'the two heavies'."

Harry darted a quick glance at him. "I did, didn't I."

"And these two weren't even worthy of a handshake – you notice that?"

She had. "They're minders, aren't they." It wasn't a question - it was a statement of fact.

"Either that or he's got some real dull friends."

Dempsey sat back against the sofa too. "So, you pick up anythin' from Sam the Man?"

"How do you mean?"

"You know him a helluva lot better than I do; did you see anythin' in the body language – the facial expressions? Was he lookin' happy to you? Angry, surprised – what?"

Harry thought for a moment. "He looked... vaguely solicitous, I suppose."

"And for the English speakers among us?"

She gave him a condescending look. "I do hope you're not including yourself in that category."

"So you're sayin' he looked a little nervous."

"Yes, maybe a little."

"As nervous as you looked on camera seven?"

Harry felt compelled to ask. "Camera seven?"

He grinned. "You know," his eyes darted mischievously, "camera seven... the boudoir-cam." His hands made jerky, jiving movements.

"Ah." Repositioning herself into a more relaxed posture, Harry put her elbow on the back of the sofa and rested her head in her hand to gaze at him serenely. "What did you think to that, James? Did it get my good side, do you think?"

"Let's just say, I was riveted."

Harry smiled pleasantly. "So glad my efforts weren't in vain."

His eyes penetrated deeply as he tried to uncover a double bluff. Okay, so she knew he was fooling but he suspected that had she really done 'the bad thing' with him, even the merest allusion to a hidden camera in the bedroom would be enough to highlight an uneasiness impossible for her to hide completely.

Harry, of course, realised she'd played her hand too early. If she'd had the presence of mind to at least appear momentarily flustered, she might have had him wriggling on a hook for a while. She suddenly felt quite irritated with herself; she wasn't supposed to be playing these silly games, leading James on when all she could offer him was a dead end. But he made her feel so... vital, that was the word that best summed up this slightly intoxicated, breathless high she found herself experiencing in his company. Whenever she looked at him, a quick, asinine burst of happiness pricked at her heart. That was obviously completely ludicrous but now, as when they had been together so long ago, she couldn't resist this brash, annoying, irritating, charming and handsome American.

"Harry." He spoke her name dryly, giving no clue as to where he was going with it.

She replied with equal ambivalence. "James."

Dempsey looked away then, the amused smile about his lips already witnessed by Harry but now directed at the view of the garden through the window.

"Is this somethin' you wanna pursue?"

Harry regarded the frozen image of Sam Tate's visitor on the laptop. "Naturally, we are still talking about this?" She pointed her finger at the screen.

"What else?"

She felt the weight of his gaze upon her lips and they parted without her even realising. "Do you think it's worth pursuing?" she bounced back at him.

"It ain't my call, princess but if it were me gettin' snuggly with Sammy-boy here," Dempsey took a moment to finish off his drink, "I'd be interested in finding out about his friends in low places."

Harry nodded. Ironically, the thought of 'gettin' snuggly' with Sam now held less appeal than the finding out about his 'friends in low places'.

"I suppose it wouldn't do any harm to make a phone call or two," she said mildly. "I was thinking Chas Jarvis might be willing to hand a photograph around the ranks."

"An' if we're right, Chas might even come up with a name himself."

"That, he might." Harry found herself smiling broadly.

Dempsey made an ushering sign with his hand. "So go ahead, Sergeant, make the call."

_Sergeant? Was her enthusiasm so blatant?_

"Now?"

"Why not?"

Delving into her bag again, Harry produced her mobile and rang Chas on his private number, explaining briefly what it was she wanted and asking if she could email a photograph to him straight away.

"So this bloke," Chas asked, "where do you know him from?"

"He's just an acquaintance of a friend of mine."

"You're being very secretive, Harry – if you don't mind me saying," he laughed.

"No, I'm not!" She decided then that she'd better come clean. "Actually, it's rather a long story, one that involves a friend of both of ours."

"Oh yes?"

"Dempsey."

"Dempsey?" The surprise was evident. "_The _Dempsey? Jim Dempsey? Over paid, over sexed and over here, Dempsey?"

"The very same. And funnily enough, he _is_ over here – sitting right beside me."

"You've got to be joking!"

"No. He just turned up on my doorstep one morning, which is exactly what you'd expect from him really."

"And how is he?"

"He's Dempsey, Chas – you can't expect me to sum him up in a nutshell!" Harry turned to look at Dempsey as she spoke. "Particularly these days," she added.

Dempsey shouted up, "Tell him his best man wants to buy him a beer,"

"He says he'll buy you a pint, Chas."

"Look, Harry, I've got a window in an hours time. Why don't you both come up to Hammersmith, bring me what you have and I'll see what I can do for you."

"Oh, to be one of the movers and shakers!" she quipped before taking the phone away from her ear and saying to Dempsey, "He can see us in an hour?"

"Sure," Dempsey agreed.

"Chas, that would be wonderful, thanks."

"Oh and Harry," Chas's voice lowered. "I assume you haven't,,, talked."

"You're quite right," she breezed. "See you at five thirty then."

Harry slid her phone shut and felt a sudden wave of reticence. "What the hell are we doing, Dempsey?"

_What the hell am _I _doing?_

He grinned. "We're headin' out to our old stompin' ground, partner."


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

The large pedestal fan wasn't really having any effect, merely shifting the hot, viscous air about the room in annoying waves. Dempsey was at the window, idly playing with the cord of the blinds as he watched the comings and goings in the car park below. The rasping of the green blinds was beginning to get on Harry's nerves and seeing Chas' P.A glance across at him, realised she probably felt the same. Catching her eye, Harry gave an apologetic shrug.

"Dempsey, come and sit down," she murmured.

With a sigh, he wandered back and dropped down beside her, sitting back and crossing an ankle over his knee. He checked his wristwatch and threw that arm across the back of the sofa, eyes travelling around the room until they'd done a full circuit and came back to meet Harry's stony glare.

"What?" he asked, innocently.

"For heaven's sake, sit still, can't you?" she hissed.

His foot stopped the incessant twitching on his knee.

"It's a quarter to."

"He's a busy man – he's doing us a favour by seeing us at all."

"I know that."

"Then what's your problem?"

"No problem."

And then Harry realised; it wasn't the waiting around that was getting to him, he was actually nervous about seeing Chas again.

_Well, join the club, _she thought with irony. What was Chas going to make of their re-acquaintance? It was hard to say – he'd always got on with Dempsey, admired him even, in his own quiet way and when he'd left, Chas had lost a friend. Harry had been instrumental in that although it had never really crossed her mind before.

They both looked up when the door to Chas' office cracked open. Muffled voices speaking in farewell tones spilt out and when a heavy-set, moustachioed gentleman in a suit stepped outside, they glimpsed Chas behind him.

"Probably see you on the green on Sunday, Malcolm," Chas was saying as he shook his hand.

The man left, leaving Chas standing in the doorway, staring in wonder at his next visitors.

"Dempsey and Makepeace ride again!" he exclaimed with unconcealed delight.

They both stood, Harry smoothing out the wrinkles in the beige linen shift dress she had changed into before they had come out.

Dempsey went forward, arms outstretched. "Hey, Chas! Was that the sound of a schmoozer, schmoozing that I just heard?"

They came together in a back-slapping embrace.

"Got to be done, my old son," Chas laughed, "got to be done."

Still staring at Dempsey, he held an arm out to Harry who quietly sidled up to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Afternoon, Chas."

"And you say you found him on your doorstep?" He returned the kiss and then stood shaking his head, laughing again.

"Been a long time, huh?" said Dempsey.

"Too bloody long."

"Don't remember the old mop bein' that colour," he grinned, eyeing Chas' close cropped steel grey hair. "Workin' upstairs gettin' to ya?"

Chas' hand came up to scrub through his short hair. "Went grey ten years ago," he grinned.

"Suits you, pal – gives you that 'don't mess with me' look."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, James," Harry tutted.

Chas looked over to his P.A who was watching the proceedings with a curious eye. "Bomber, can you send down for a pot of coffee?"

"Bomber?" Dempsey queried, drawn suddenly towards the middle-aged lady who had shown them in earlier.

"This is Ruth 'Bomber' Lancaster," Chas smiled.

Dempsey pointed a finger. "Ahhh, gotcha," he laughed.

"Bomber, this is Jim Dempsey and I believe you've met Harry Cavanagh before?"

"Yes, when you first got the appointment, Chas – at the drinks party."

The two women smiled at each other.

"These two used to be partnered together. We were in SI-10 at the same time. This is the first time I've seen Dempsey here for over twenty years!"

Bomber happily shook Dempsey's hand. "Very pleased to meet you, Sir."

"Likewise... Bomber," he grinned.

She picked up her telephone receiver. "I'll get that coffee ordered."

"And some of those chocolate digestives if you can get 'em," Dempsey added cheekily. "I'm starvin' like Marvin."

Harry rolled her eyes.

"He's an American," Chas informed Bomber and winked at Harry. "Right then," he told them in an overdone Welsh accent, "Bonnie and Clyde... in my office... NOW!"

After a quick catch-up conversation, they got around to their reason for being there and Harry found she hadn't really thought it through. It seemed a little awkward, explaining the details of her request and Dempsey's part in it but Chas being Chas took it all in his stride.

"Anything I say is completely off the record then. It may be your company, Jim, but you were still gaining confidential information under false pretences. If Harry's friend finds out he'd be quite entitled to press charges."

Harry sighed. "And I suppose I'm aiding and abetting."

"If your friend decided to see it that way, then yes."

"Guy's a creep anyways," Dempsey muttered.

"Oh yes," said Harry, disdainfully, "and you'd know that wouldn't you because you've met him ONCE!"

"And let me tell you, once was enough."

"Well fortunately, Dempsey, you're not my father or my brother or any significant factor in my life for that matter so he doesn't need to meet with your approval – DOES HE!"

Dempsey clutched a hand to his heart, scowling. "I'm wounded."

"I'm glad!"

Chas looked from one to the other in amazement. "Nothing changes, does it?"

They managed to look suitably chastised.

"Shall we move on?" asked Chas.

Dempsey immediately seemed to forget the antagonism and began to search for the file he needed on his laptop that he'd set up on Chas' desk.

"Just need you to get a look at this guy; see if you can put a name to his ugly mug."

There was a light knock at the door and Bomber entered carrying a tray of cups and saucers, a pot of fresh coffee – and a plate of chocolate digestive biscuits.

"Anyone ever tell you you're an angel?" grinned Dempsey, snatching one up before the tray had even reached the desk.

"Frequently, Sir," she replied without even looking up.

Dempsey chuckled.

"Thank you," Harry said politely and then added quietly, "Don't worry, we won't be here long."

The woman kept her eyes averted but the modest smile was response enough.

Whilst Harry poured, on the other side of the desk, Chas and Dempsey watched the video footage. Barely thirty seconds had elapsed before Chas said with surprise, "That's Andor Kalivas! The other two are Davy Norton and Rack Soubrey."

Harry clicked her fingers. "Kalivas! Of course! Family owned a kebab shop or something. I knew I recognised him"

"Yeah, but I had to remind you that you knew you recognised him," Dempsey pointed out. He looked to Chas. "A restaurant somewhere in North London if I remember it right?"

"Mmm. Well now not only does he own three nice, respectable Greek restaurants in North London, he also 'owns' half the coke dealers in the area too."

"Drugs!" Dempsey exclaimed. "The guy's into drugs?"

"Big time – just can't bring him down for it, got too many flunkies willing to take the fall."

Both the men looked to Harry then who had yet to comment on this revelation. She shook her head vehemently. "No. Not Sam. I'd know if he was involved in drugs."

Dempsey fixed her with a narrow glare. "What, because he don't roll twenties in front of you he ain't scorin'?"

"I'd know," Harry insisted.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Yeah, right. That's a pretty naive attitude for an ex-cop, Harry."

Chas Jarvis looked concerned. "Andor Kalivas is a naughty name these days," he told her. "Twenty years ago it was a bit of weed along with his habitual breaking and entering; now he's a major player in the drugs game. Dempsey was right to be worried, sweetheart."

Harry had never thought of herself as gullible before, in any way, shape or form and having these two ganging up on her made her see red.

"I really don't appreciate this patronising attitude you both seem to have adopted," she said tersely. "There could be a dozen explanations for Kalivas being at Sam's place."

"Only you can't think of any right now," Dempsey said, sarcastically.

"Catering!" she plucked from the air.

"Ha!" Dempsey laughed shortly.

Then Chas asked, "Seeing as this is off the record, do you want to tell me who this bloke of yours is?"

Harry lifted her eyes resignedly. "His name's Sam Tate; he owns Carnaby-Luxe – I'm sure you've heard of it."

"Yeah, course – the girls shop there – costs me a fortune."

"You got three girls, right?" Dempsey asked with a half smile.

"Yeah. What with them and Alice, they've pretty much got me where they want me."

"Ah, daughters are foreign territory to me – just got the one son."

"A son?" Chas inclined his head, obviously a little surprised by the knowledge. "Well, let me tell you, teenaged girls are piranhas in human form, Dempsey and don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

"Only you wouldn't swap 'em for the world, am I right?"

"I doubt he's ever had the offer, have you Chas?" Harry put in dryly with a slight frown directed his way.

Chas glanced sharply at her. "Sorry, we're getting away from the issue." He cleared his throat. "So - Carnaby-Luxe, that's high profile. Any links with a man like Kalivas could potentially be explosive, illegal or not. I could make some discreet inquiries, possibly find out where the connection lies if it would set your mind at rest."

"And this over-the-top security system Dempsey's firm installed?" she queried. "Not looking too good for him really I suppose."

"Well, let's not go jumping to conclusions," he told her steadily, "only, tread carefully is my advice. Does he know you're ex-force?"

Harry shook her head. "Haven't mentioned it."

"Do it – see what reaction you get."

"Probably ask her to bring her uniform along," Dempsey mumbled.

Harry snapped back, "If you don't have anything constructive to say, Dempsey, keep it shut."

He was sitting on the corner of Chas' desk, eating his third chocolate biscuit. "Purely from a professional standpoint – uniforms are very 'now' I'm told."

But Harry was talking over him. "You know, it's coming back to me now; it was a restaurant in Finchley, wasn't it? All the family worked there, even the grandparents. Is it still there?"

"Hub of his little empire," said Chas. "Makes a nice base for his other activities. Quite upmarket now I gather and what with the other two restaurants, the business is sufficient cover for his extremely wealthy lifestyle."

Harry sipped her coffee. "I think the connection is with the restaurants," she said firmly. "Sam just wouldn't be involved in drugs, at least, not knowingly."

"Don't worry," said Chas as he ran the c.c.t.v footage again, "and I know that's easy to say but I'll put some feelers out and come back to you in a couple of days, okay?"

"Thanks, Chas – it's good of you."

"Sorry to open up a can of worms here, pal," Dempsey apologised although Harry knew full well he wasn't at all sorry – he was clearly quite smug.

Harry wrote out Sam Tate's address and phone numbers along with a website address where a photograph of him was available.

"Look Jim," said Chas, after they'd had a few minutes of reminiscing over their brief time at SI-10 together, "one of my girls is having a birthday party on the nineteenth; just a huge get-together really – family and friends. Be great if you could make it... erm... if that's okay with Harry?" he added, casting her an anxious smile.

Harry shrugged. "Rosie's party," she murmured, concentrating heavily on her coffee, "invite who you want."

"Saturday after next, right?" Dempsey confirmed. "Great, I'll be there. I'll get the details off Her Ladyship."

Harry just gave him a withering look. "You'd better drop me back at home now – we've taken up enough of Chas' time for one day."

...

They struck out across the car park, knocked back by the force of the early evening temperatures after the air conditioning of the modernized SI-10 building. The interior of the BMW was baking hot and they sat back gratefully for a few minutes as the air-con kicked in.

Keeping her eyes closed, Harry asked, "Is that dinner invitation still open?"

Without skipping a beat, Dempsey replied, "I was thinkin' we could go Greek."

"Funnily enough, so was I." Her eyes opened and she turned to meet his steady gaze just before he slipped on his sunglasses.


	36. Chapter 36

Sorry it's taken a little while for this chapter but I was hoping that my stats would come back up before I updated. Anybody know why they disappear sometimes? I'm flat lining and it's depressing lol

Anyway, make the most of this one because I'm struggling really badly with the second part. I've actually written it but I'm not at all happy with it so it'll need a lot of re-working I think.

_Chapter 36_

_Long, dark hair right down her back, real pretty face and a body to match. _

_Dempsey had spent half the night with his tongue down her throat, feeling her up on the dance floor – because he could._

_He'd propositioned her, she'd happily accepted._

_Out in the car park though, some hitherto unknown sense of guilt had begun to flourish. Where matters of the flesh were concerned, Dempsey's philosophy had always been; if you like what's offered to you, grab it with both hands – only that was before the tiger had got her claws into him. Even in this condition, pie-eyed and in no fit state to be driving anyway, he knew he couldn't go through with it. In the back of his mind, he'd only been getting it on to get at Harry and as she wasn't here to see any of it, what was the point?_

_..._

"_Yo, Harry!" he yelled, furiously rattling the letterbox. "Come down here and let me in."_

_The last song that had been playing at the bar was still in his mind but it felt like it needed to come out._

"_If you leave me now," he swayed a little, standing there on the top step of Harry's Camberwell Grove residence, "you'll take away the biggest part of me..."_

_He bent his head down then, steadying himself with one hand against the door while the other pushed open the flap of the letterbox. "Nooooooo, baby please don't go..." he crooned abysmally._

_The door flew open and Harry, swathed in a silk kimono, her face free of make-up, confronted him angrily._

"_I'm not going anywhere, Dempsey but I think you should – preferably home!"_

_He brought himself back up to his full height and grinned. "Heyyyyyy, Lady Harriet, my dream girl. Glad you're not still out somewheres cos I woulda had to've broken in and then you woulda gotten upset with me._

"_Well, you haven't had to break in to upset me," she tutted. "What are you doing here? You were supposed to be having a night out with friends."_

"_Yep." Dempsey got through the doorway at a stagger and then mechanically turned himself around to face Harry. "'xactly what I did... night out with my friendly friends." Jerkily, he lifted his hand and began counting off on his fingers. "Dougie... now, you like Dougie, right? And Mac. And there was Stork and Alan..."_

"_James," she interrupted, "you didn't drive here did you? Please don't tell me you got behind the wheel in this condition."_

_He put a finger to his lips. "Okay, I won't tell you," he whispered loudly._

"_But you're absolutely steaming!"_

_He started to wander off into the kitchen. "It was fine; I even remembered to drive on the wrong side of the road – for most of the way anyway."_

"_Where are you going?" Harry asked, following behind in agitation._

"_Think I might've run a red light... but I said 'whoops' after I did it so that's okay." He laughed._

_He had reached the refrigerator and was now staring fixedly at the contents. "We got any beer, Harry?"_

_She pushed him to one side. "That's the last thing you need."_

_Reaching for a bottle of milk, she told him, "A glass of milk or a cup of coffee, which do you want – make your mind up."_

_Dempsey took the bottle off her, thumbed off the foil lid and raised it up. "Cheers," he grinned, taking a swig. "Y'know, I like that word... not 'cheers' although I like that too but I'm talkin' 'bout 'whoops'. You know where that word comes from?"_

"_No, Dempsey, I'm afraid I don't," said Harry, patiently._

"_Me neither but I like it."_

_On his third attempt, he managed to hitch himself up onto the kitchen worktop._

"'_t's a special word... get it in my head sometimes. You shout at me 'hands!' and I think 'whoops'!"_

_He very carefully placed the glass bottle at the side of him and held his arms out to her. "C'mmon over here and gimme some sugar."_

"_How did you manage to get yourself into this state?"_

"_It was easy," he grinned and jumped down again and almost in the same move, dragged her against him._

_Harry shoved him away. "God, you stink of whisky – how much have you had?"_

_"Now, that's the thing... I don't know an' I guess I should cos it was me who was drinkin' it but... " he held a finger aloft before saying with the perfect poise of a classical, Shakespearean actor, "I have absolutely... no... idea, Lady Harriet." And then he began to laugh, seized by the empty hilarity of his own words._ "_Makin' up for lost time, maybe," he chuckled with a little less conviction._

_Harry regarded him stonily, something curling up inside her. "__I never stop you going out."_

"_I know that, babe."_

"_Right," said Harry, holding the palm of her hand to her forehead as she thought through what she should do with him, "finish your milk and then you can get on the couch. I'm going back to bed."_

"_The couch? You're kiddin' me."_

"_No," she said, matter-of-factly, "I don't want you throwing up in my bed and peeling the wallpaper off with those alcohol fumes on your breath."_

"_You ain't gonna make me sleep down here!" Dempsey protested, following Harry back out of the kitchen._

"_Wanna bet?"_

"_But I risked life and limb to be with you," he joked._

"_Oh, and you want me to be impressed by that; as if it isn't enough that you risk life and limb for a living every day."_

"_Can't win with you, Harry," he said sullenly, his alcohol infused high-humour suddenly deserting him. His arm swung up in a dismissive gesture. "Ah, forget it. I'm wastin' my time with you anyway."_

_Harry stopped, midway up the stairs and watched him disappear through to the lounge area. What did that mean? The conversation or the whole relationship? She suddenly felt a pulsating hollowness. She always went too far didn't she – always pushed him away too readily and he had finally grown tired of it – of her._

_Harry sat down on a stair tread, sick with panic and tears welled up in her eyes. She was losing him wasn't she, this man who she spent so much of her life with, who her life now seemed to revolve around._

_They needed to talk. She had to know if he was really slipping away from her. But she didn't know what she wanted from him or how much she was prepared to give up for him – the only thing she was truly sure of was that she loved him._

_They couldn't talk tonight of course - he was terribly drunk, but she could at least tell him she loved him, draw back some of the anger she had vented at him for coming here tonight in this state._

_Wiping her eyes with hot, shaking fingers, Harry managed to steady her breathing and finally got to her feet. Never go to bed on a row, wasn't that what they said? Although it was possible Dempsey wouldn't even remember her pique by the morning._

_At the bottom of the stairs, she crossed the hall and crept over to the sofa he always used to use when he stayed over. He'd left a lamp on and she picked up the half full bottle of milk he'd left by the sofa and placed it on the mantlepiece. Dempsey was asleep – or passed out. He lay sprawled out, fully clothed still, although his shirt was unbuttoned and his shoes had been kicked to the floor. He was snoring gently._

_Kneeling down by his head, Harry touched a hand to his brow._

_He stirred. "Yeah, well, they ain't servin' chicken wings," he said quite clearly, making Harry smile despite her anguish._

"_I love you so much, you stupid, stupid man," she whispered and actually saying the words out loud brought forth fresh tears._

_She ran her cupped palm around the side of his face and down around the strong, distinctive jaw. He was so beautiful, so masculine._

_Why had Angela had to ask about their future together – to ask if they 'had' a future together? She simply couldn't envisage anything beyond what they had now. It was hard enough keeping Harry and James apart from Dempsey and Makepeace in her mind; how could she contemplate a Mr and Mrs Dempsey? Even supposing James would possibly ever want that, how could it be a viable option without completely wrecking their careers and thus destroying that vital chemistry between them?_

"_I don't want it to end," she whispered as her fingers played slowly through his hair. "I wouldn't be able to stop loving you."_

_Harry leaned over him, bringing her mouth down to his but then stopped just short as she inhaled the scent of something floral and sweet over the whiskey. Cautiously, she smelt his neck, his shirtfront and with a growing repulsion, realised it was perfume. Her right hand trembled as she lifted up the collar of the shirt, her eyes shifting to his closed eyelids and back again. And there, pink and greasy on the heavy twill weave, right on the edge and ingrained along the stitching was a small smudge of lipstick._

"_You bastard!" she said aloud and withdrew her hand rapidly to wipe it, as though contaminated, against her thigh as she stood._

_It was a cliché , wasn't it – the incriminating lipstick on the collar._

'_He's changed', Angela had said but he hadn't at all, had he? He was still the same, womanising, silver-tongued, 'flesh magnet', as he had once proudly proclaimed himself. So he'd done whatever it was he'd done and them come drifting back to her. Or maybe that wasn't it, maybe the girl had turned him down and Harry had been the back-up. Harry was playing second fiddle to some nasty, cheap little tart, if that sickly, malodorous perfume was anything to go by._

_Anger ruptured into despair and she thrust clenched fingers against her mouth in a reflexive attempt at staunching the convulsive gasps that were issuing. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she be enough for him? He was all she needed – all she wanted so why didn't it work the other way around?_

_Slowly, she let herself sink to the floor and sat, wild-eyed, just staring at his slumbering form. Could she ignore it? Pretend she didn't know? Would her self-respect allow her to accept the possibility of him 'straying' every so often if that was what it took to hang onto him? How desperately in love did she need to be to let a man trample her into the ground like that?_


	37. Chapter 37

I've really struggled with this chapter and it's reached the stage where I think if I hack it about any more, I'll just completely lose the essence of it - if I haven't done already. I'm half way through the next 'now' chapter which is going fine but I've had to keep coming back to this one, trying to get it right. So anyway, here it is...

Thanks for pushing me, Lou ;-)

_Chapter 37_

_By lunchtime, Dempsey's hangover, combined with the glass-breaking tension finally got the better of him._

"_Okay – food," he said aloud from his desk._

"_I'm not hungry, thank you," Harry replied quietly without raising her head._

_After some minor hesitation, Dempsey purposefully levered himself out of his chair and covering the few steps between their desks, grasped the back of her chair, spinning her around to face him._

"_Gotta eat, partner."_

"_I think I just told you, I'm not hungry," she said deliberately as she swivelled herself back to the desk._

_Dempsey's eyes briefly scanned the office, searching out the potential eavesdroppers. Finding none, he grabbed both Harry's upper arms and yanked her to her feet. "And I think I just told you, you gotta eat."_

_As he pushed her ahead of him, he hooked up her handbag from the end of the desk and shoved it against her chest. "Let's go," he told her calmly._

_Side by side, they marched silently from the SI-10 building and out into the burning heat of the car park._

"_Okay, so I messed up," Dempsey said at last._

_They were standing at the first row of cars at the top end of the car park nearest the building. _

"_I already apologised – several times. I was an idiot to have driven last night and I shouldn't have gotten you outa bed at whatever time it was. I'm sorry, okay? You freezin' me out like this ain't gonna change nothin', princess."_

_Wordlessly, Harry took her car keys from her handbag and stalked away to her white Ford Escort four rows on._

"_Hey, c'mmon! Where you goin'?" he griped, following behind. "Harry, this is stupid. Talk to me!"_

_He watched her unlock the boot and drag out a John Lewis carrier bag. She slammed the boot shut and moved towards him resolutely._

"_This is for you," she told him icily, thrusting it at him as he had done her handbag._

_It wasn't a gift, of that he was sure. Warily he opened it up to look inside._

"_You can do your own bloody washing, Dempsey," she said, contemptuously. " You'll find that salt is good for grease stains. Be careful though, it's excellent at killing slugs, too."_

_It was the shirt he'd worn the previous night._

"_I didn't eat nothin' last night," he told her with a frown, wondering what this was leading up to. "Did I lean up against somethin'?" But by the look on her face, laundry wasn't really the issue._

_Harry laughed, humourlessly. "Oh, most definitely – something wearing pretty pink lipstick, darling." Her supercilious tone was designed to grate and it worked._

_Despite the midday temperatures, Dempsey felt a rapier of ice run through him when she asked, "Coming back to you now, is it?"_

_He bunched up the carrier bag and clutched it down by his side, a million words in his head all vying for priority. He took a deep, fortifying breath. He'd been caught out in the past, even been caught out 'in the act' once. He'd either lied his way out of it or shrugged it off with a flippant 'take-it-or-leave-it' comment. But this was different – Harry meant something. In fact, Harry meant everything._

"_Harry, listen to me..." he began._

"_Oh, here we go," she interrupted. "I'll bet you've got a plethora of wonderfully plausible excuses all lined up in a nice, neat, shiny line, haven't you. My first guess is the barmaid – she fell out with her boyfriend and you being the perfect gentleman, offered her your shoulder to cry on."_

"_I'm not..." he started again, head bowed._

"_Or would you maybe admit to a stripper? Now that would be the ideal get-out; you all finished up at a... a... strip joint and some little tart was rubbing herself up against you – hence the bubblegum lipstick and the reek of eau-de-trollop." Harry jabbed a finger towards him. "Or maybe you weren't even with your friends last night," she accused. She suddenly seemed to crumple a little, her shoulders sagging and her arms crossing over her chest as she sought to protect herself from the answers._

_Dempsey gazed at her morosely. "You want the truth?"_

"_I doubt you'd recognise the truth even if it came up and knee'd you in the balls." She managed to make it sound like a threat._

"_Yeah, there was a woman. We danced and we got friendly but I didn't sleep with her."_

"_And does that make you feel better – shrouding the truth in ambiguity?" Harry snapped. "I don't suppose for one minute you 'slept' with her - you were wide awake screwing her!"_

_Her voice had risen considerably and anyone within a hundred yards would've been able to hear every word._

"_You wanna get in the car or you want everyone to hear this?" he barked, anxiety making his own voice loud._

"_I'm not sure it matters any more either way."_

_He regarded her uncertainly. "Meaning?"_

"_Meaning, this whole thing is one big joke to you, isn't it? You don't see this as a serious relationship any more – if you ever did. A serious conquest maybe..."_

_They were in the car now, Harry having unconsciously followed his suggestion to procure them some privacy._

"_A doozey of a notch, aye Dempsey – bedding a member of the English aristocracy and you certainly had to work hard for it, didn't you? But then, that was what you liked, the fact that I wasn't easy – I was a challenge."_

"_Nothin' happened," he told her slowly, "beyond what can happen on a dance floor. Nearly did – and I'm bein' honest with you here, I ain't gonna lie 'cause I got too much respect for you..."_

"_Respect?" Harry shrieked. She twisted in the driving seat, clutching the steering wheel with her right hand. "I'm sorry, are you trying to be funny?"_

"_I made a mistake – a big mistake and I know it ain't no excuse but I was real drunk and circumstances got the better of me."_

"_You know James, I don't even know why I'm bothering to have this conversation with you. I've known from the beginning it would come to this one day. I'm so pathetic... what a fool!" she laughed shakily._

"_No." He shook his head. "No – you're not."_

_The sun was blazing through the windscreen and the car was like an oven. They were both perspiring heavily, the heat and the tension making it practically unbearable._

"_So who was she, this piece of action you so nobly turned down? Allegedly. Did you know her? Had you met her before?"_

"_Just some girl Dougie knows and no, I'd never met her before."_

"_Dougie!" she exclaimed. "Dougie introduced you to her?"_

"_Well, why wouldn't he?" Dempsey asked with a sickly smile. "Far as he's concerned, I'm gettin' nowhere fast with you. 'Lady Bountiful, she ain't' is a phrase I've used a couple o' times, Harry." Calmly, he added, "That was the way you wanted to play it, princess."_

_He realised that tears were mingling with the sweat that stood out on her face and yet he could feel no sympathy. Instead, he carried on, pushing her to understand how the constrictions she placed on him made him feel, why he had reacted the way he had._

"_She was just there, I could be normal around her, Harry. Didn't matter who she was, it was the fact that she was there, pleased that I was comin' on to her, enjoyin' it. She wasn't lookin' over her shoulder." He paused, letting her digest the words. "You know, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me and I've never been able to tell no one."_

_This wasn't what Harry wanted to hear – it should be but it wasn't._

"_We agreed," she whispered, her voice cracking._

"_Yeah, we agreed to keep it on the low but you've managed to turn it into an obsession! Half of our friends don't even know we're together – don't that strike you as bein' just a little over the top? Bit freaky, huh, Harry?"_

"_We know we're together," she said feebly._

"_Sometimes it don't feel like it."_

_She faced forward again, battling the tears, staying in control. "Like last night, do you mean? When you'd got your hands all over that little tart?"_

_Dempsey suddenly thumped his fist down on the door ledge, making her jump. "Forget her! You're not listening here. She was just a... a symptom. I can't deal with this Jekyll and Hyde thing no more; my head is all over the place, I can't think straight."_

"_But it's always been like this between us, James," she cried. "What's changed?"_

"_Everything!" He mashed the heel of his hand against his eye. "Nothin'," he said bitterly._

"_Which?"_

_How had he managed to turn everything around so that it was now she who felt like the guilty party? At what point had last night ceased to be the main issue?_

"_I don't feel like you're mine – like you're my woman," he stared off into the middle distance as he tried to articulate, " and I realise that sounds Neanderthal to you but I wanna have people know 'bout us, I wanna be able to show you off."_

"_But it doesn't make any difference to 'us'!" She slammed the steering wheel in frustration as she got out the last word._

"_Yeah – it does. You gotta ease up, Harry. It's the secrecy ... it's freakin' me out – I mean, seriously freakin' me out here. We had fun with it at first maybe but now it's... well, it's taken over and you can't loosen up, you ain't yourself with me no more unless we're behind a locked door."_

"_But it has to be that way – how can it not?"_

_Dempsey leaned back on the head rest and closed his eyes briefly. "Harry, the whole thing is only for insurance, just in case, in the event of an emergency... You're assuming that the alarm bells are gonna start ringin' at Crime Incorporated H.Q the second my hand reaches for your ass." Wearily, he turned to look at her. " What if nobody actually cares that we're together, what if nobody's interested?"_

_Harry reached for his hand, looking down as she let her fingers twine in and out of his. "And what if they do and what if one of us gets hurt because of it?"_

"_So we carry on this way until what?... we grow old and die?"_

_She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't have any answers."_

"_Aren't we worth takin' a risk for? Couldn't we just try bein' normal for once?"_

"_We're damned if we do and damned if we don't – that's what you're saying"_

_He looked anxiously into her eyes. "No, I'm not. What's with this fatalistic attitude? Please, Harry, just consider it."_

_Slowly, Harry pulled her hand away from his and wiped her damp fringe away from her eyes. "You make it sound so easy; just throw caution to the wind and everything will be fine."_

_Their own thoughts silenced them for several, long heartbeats until finally, Dempsey said, "Your way ain't workin' for me, sweetheart, it's as simple as that."_

_Harry sat a little straighter, pierced by the statement and suddenly, tears began to run freely in steady tracks down her cheeks._

"_Hey!" he said softly, leaning over and brushing the tears away, tentatively, "don't cry, princess." He couldn't cope with her collapsing emotions, not on top of his own. "I wanna ask you somethin', okay and I want you to think about it real hard."_

"_What? What do you mean?"_

"_You ashamed of me, Harry?"_

_Eyes wide and incredulous, her head dipped into a turn. "Am I what?" she choked out._

"_You heard me."_

"_Yes," she said oh-so-patiently, "but I don't think I quite understood the question."_

"_Do I embarrass you?"_

_Deliberately, she misread his meaning. "You've always embarrassed me, it's what you do, you like to embarrass me."_

"_You know what I'm talkin' about," he replied darkly. "My Dad was a dock-worker from Brooklyn, not the Duke of Gloucester... I ain't exactly the right material."_

"_Do I make you feel like that?" She cleared her throat, trying to sound calm – reasonable._

_He shrugged. "Don't suppose it's intentional but yeah, sometimes when we're out and you're so adamant that I'm just the guy you work with, then yeah, I feel like I ain't good enough for you."_

_Harry pressed her fingers to her mouth, her eyes darting rapidly in tiny, fixated movements. She couldn't believe he was saying these things, that he might actually believe any of it._

"_The right material," she repeated softly. "Do you honestly think I see you in those terms?"_

"_Maybe you don't think you do but deep down, you know I ain't got what it takes to be with you."_

_She nodded absently, watching an overweight woman in a too-short flowery summer dress amble across the car park. It had occurred to her that he might sometimes feel out of his depth in her world but never that he was at all fazed by it. And she had never, ever felt that he didn't belong there._

"_Am I gettin' warm?" he persisted._

_Harry rested her arms on the steering wheel and bent her head forward, suddenly feeling nauseous. _

"_Maybe our circumstances saves a lot of trouble," he fought against her silence. "Pretending like there's nothin' goin' on between us means you get the best of both worlds. I'm good enough in the sack but not good enough to be presented as any serious contender for the hand of the fair lady Harriet." There was an ugly sarcasm in his tone that frightened Harry. "Some of those snooty stuffed shirts at the Pyewacket party woulda had coronaries if they'd of realised the crass, smart-mouthed Yank was puttin' it to one of their own."_

"_Stop it!" she screamed. "Just stop it! What the hell is wrong with you?"_

"_I know exactly what's wrong with me, Harry, and so do you only you won't admit it."_

_There was a hideous, dark feeling grazing her heart. "You make it sound like I'm using you," she said, horrified._

"_Aren't you? Just a little bit? Hangin' off of my arm to ruffle a few feathers among the landed gentry and pretendin' to be whiter than white at the same time? You tellin' me you don't get a kick outa that?"_

"_Alright, I do. But you said you wanted to be able to 'show me off' – why shouldn't I _

_want to show you off too? Why should it be any different for me?"_

"_Cos you got class, Harry and that's somethin' that's always gonna come between us," he told her forcefully._

"_I thought Americans didn't believe in the class system." She knew she wouldn't be able to hold on much longer; she was going to fall apart._

"_Not for Americans but it's pretty hard not to believe in it over here when it's beatin' you about the head."_

_Suddenly, something seemed to click in Harry's brain._

"_Go on then," she laughed raggedly. "Say it. Say it James ... what all this has been leading up to. Time to call it a day, that's what you mean, isn't it?"_

"_Harry, I don't wanna end this!"_

_She looked up then, the alarm in his voice latching onto her nerve endings. He reached out to cover her left hand, his fingers encasing it tightly and his other hand gently captured the back of her head. "That isn't what I want, angel."_

_Her small, uncertain laugh carried into a sob. "But you're unhappy. I've made you unhappy."_

"_I'm not unhappy with you, only the situation and I wanna fix it, I want us to change things." He leaned in to kiss her forehead. "We gotta do somethin', Harry cos what we got now is killin' me."_

_He was serious; he really wasn't coping and Harry was staggered by the depth of feeling it would take for Dempsey to admit that._

"_I don't know what to do, James. What do you want me to do?" Harry cried plaintively, recognising the panic that was building within her. _

_His hand moved around to her cheek, easing the tears away with his thumb._

"_Just... relax a little... enjoy what we got – like you used to."_

_Harry nodded, her eyes closed as she held his hand to her cheek. "Okay... okay, you're right, I know you're right," she said tremulously. "If you want people to know... friends... then we'll tell them."_

_A huge smile spread across Dempsey's face. "Yeah. That's exactly what I want." He brought her face to his and kissed her tenderly._

_A physical relief that could be measured in inches caused Dempsey's whole body to almost unfold, raising his head, expanding his shoulders and radiating a lightness of spirit that succeeded in enveloping Harry momentarily. He took both of her hands in his and laughed as though some remission had been granted them._

"_It'll be okay," Dempsey told her and he lifted her left hand to kiss it reverently. "We'll be okay."_

_But the trouble was, Harry hadn't realised until now exactly how hard a time James had been having with the relationship. She'd known that he got frustrated when she was stand-offish; when she refused to acknowledge him as anything other than Lieutenant Jim Dempsey in front of people and it even annoyed her, the fact that he apparently found it so difficult to switch off from her when it became necessary. _

_Suddenly there seemed to be so many issues that hadn't been there before._


	38. Chapter 38

**I'm doing a little run of 'Now' chapters and as I seem to have quite a lot to type up, I'm posting them in 'bite-size' chunks - no pun intended ;-) I'll post another chapter tomorrow.**

Chapter 38

Dempsey pinpointed the restaurant on the car satnav system and programmed it in. Fortunately, the name of the restaurant, 'The Kalivas' made it exceptionally easy.

"By the way," he told Harry, "I won't stay long at this party – just wanna show my face, say 'hi' to Chas and Alice."

"Stay as long as you like, Dempsey, it's nothing to do with me."

He glanced at her with a half smile before turning back to the road.

"Got the impression you'd rather I wasn't there and I gotta admit, from Sam's point of view, it's gonna look a big coincidence, us both knowin' Chas."

"Sam isn't going," she said flatly.

"Hmm," Dempsey mused, leaving a question in the air.

"I haven't invited him." She suddenly wondered if it wouldn't have been more sensible to let him think Sam just couldn't make it on that night. "Not really his cup of tea."

Her stilted responses seemed to amuse Dempsey who asked, "Not his cup of tea, how?" He pronounced 'cup of tea' with a very English accent.

Harry fidgeted with the bronze jewelled cuff bracelet on her wrist. "A lot of the people who'll be there, I've known for years... I've only known Sam for a matter of weeks."

"So? Nice opportunity to meet family and friends."

"Maybe you're right but the way things stand at the moment, I'm glad I didn't ask him to go."

She didn't want to have to explain that the relationship she had with Sam didn't feel quite comfortable enough yet to want to introduce her children to him. Not that she wanted to introduce Dempsey to them either but that was another matter.

"Don't give up all hope, you may be right on the catering angle."

Was there more than a gentle smattering of sarcasm there?

"And Phil'll be there of course," she put in casually.

"Yeah, course."

Dempsey changed up a gear. "Like I say, I won't stop long."

"Don't let him frighten you off, Dempsey."

He chuckled, covering the fact that his mind was wrestling with the ambiguity of those words. Was that a put-down or a request?

She turned to him then and asked smoothly, "It isn't just me then?"

"What isn't just you?"

"Who you have problems accepting directions from."

"Shit!"

His foot automatically went to the brake but it was too late – he'd missed the turn-off and the satnav lady, who he clearly hadn't been listening to was now making an issue out of it too.

"Mouthy broad," he griped and when Harry raised her eyebrows at him, he added, along with a jab of his finger, "Not you – her!"

"Naturally – how could I possibly think you were referring to me?"

"I hate these things anyway; always so god-damned _nice. _She sends you two miles outta your way and when you wanna argue with her about it she completely blanks you! At least I could argue with you when you were wrong."

"I was never wrong."

"You kiddin' me? You used to send us off-route so often we could of gotten to China on the fuel I wasted."

Harry laughed exaggeratedly. "I don't know how you've got the nerve! I was misdirected so many times I thought I was working with a magician."

Dempsey flashed her a wicked grin. "Oh, you were, princess but in so many other ways."

The tingly feeling that had suddenly hit her in the chest began to blossom uncontrollably and she thought it advisable not to take the conversation any further. Instead, Harry looked out of her window and tried to concentrate on the less disturbing scenes around her.

"So. Do you wanna let me know the time and place of this party?"

"Hm? She turned to him, startled out of her reverie by his voice suddenly penetrating the quiet. "Oh... Saturday the nineteenth at Blueski's on The Upper Mall in Hammersmith. Do you know it?"

"My trusty sidekick'll find it," he told her, nodding to the satnav.

"Seven-thirty start."

"What's the dress code – smart casual?"

"Actually, no. You'll need your d.j. Rosie decided she wanted formal dress. I think she quite fancied the idea of a bit of a bun-fight, dressing to the nines – some nice, healthy competition amongst her friends, that sort of thing. But other than that, it'll be a complete piss-up, I can assure you. Total nutcases, the Jarvis girls."

"Sounds fun. Should I buy her something?"

"No, don't bother buying anything... unless you have incredibly good taste in shoes and handbags that is," Harry laughed.

"So how old is she now? Gotta be twenty two, right?"

"Yes. James, you're not concentrating," she chided, craning her neck forwards. "You need to signal or you'll miss the turn-off again."

"I got it," he assured her with mirth, "it's miles away!"

...

They arrived at The Kalivas just after seven.

"He ain't forced to be here tonight, Harry." Dempsey leaned over the steering wheel, peering at the white building with its Corinthian columned frontage.

"I know," she mused, "but we might track him down at one of the other two restaurants, I suppose."

"Well, I ain't buyin' you three dinners so how about we just sit at the bar here for a while, see what happens?

"Fine. Any thoughts on how we should play it if he's around?"

"Depends on whether he recognises us or not."

"Chances are he will, seeing both of us together."

"Yeah... Bonnie and Clyde," he said slowly, repeating Chas' words of earlier.

Harry tilted her head. "Come on then - out with it. I can see there's something just dying to crawl out of that busy little brain of yours."

"Just wonderin' if he'd assume we're still cops."

Harry smirked. "Whilst I'll admit you don't look at all bad for your age, I'm sure we'd both have been pensioned off several years ago."

"Compliment duly noted, Makepeace."

"Cavanagh."

"For the moment, I think we'll stick with Makepeace."

"I think you'll find that impersonating a police officer is still a criminal offence these days, Dempsey."

"You gotta get caught doin' it before you can be charged... and me and you were always real good at undercover."

Harry's witty retort wasn't forthcoming – she was too occupied with exorcizing the livid memories those words had provoked.

"... work." Dempsey clarified, scratching his nose. "Undercover work..." He coughed and murmured absently to himself, "Yeah..."

He had parked up in a metered spot around the corner and now the engine was idling.

"Shall we?" Harry asked, opening the car door and stepping out onto the pavement.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

The Kalivas was a stylish mix of smooth, contemporary furnishings and traditional Greek culture. Modern lines were overlaid with the relaxed, rustic qualities of hand thrown pottery and rough hewn wood and at the outer areas of the restaurant, lush, intimate havens had been cleverly created with the use of living vines and white marble sectioning. The place had gone considerably up-market since the days of the cheap taverna they both vaguely remembered.

The long bar, although obviously some artificial substitute, appeared to be carved from a single piece of white marble decorated with a relief design of figures along the front. They were intercepted by a waiter but after informing him of their decision to have a drink first, the pair ordered from the girl serving and sat down on a couple of stools.

"Mr Kalivas around?" Dempsey asked, casually surveying the tables, only half a dozen of which were occupied at this early hour.

The girl, who had been all sweetness and light whilst serving, suddenly became distinctly frosty.

"Doesn't look like it to me."

"Is he gonna be around?"

She shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not."

"You always give this level of customer service?"

"That would depend on the customer," came the surly reply.

Harry sipped delicately at her white wine spritzer. "James, darling," she leant towards him, covering his hand with her own and asked softly, "Why don't you just call him?"

The girl looked at her uncertainly.

Dempsey stood up and took his mobile from his trouser pocket as he muttered, "Great idea, honey." Then, giving the barmaid a dark look, he jabbed a few buttons. "And I can ask him which charm school he sends his bar staff to whilst I'm at it."

The girl caved in. "Look, I'm sorry. Didn't realise you knew him personally. He should be in around nine, okay?"

Dempsey snapped the phone shut. "All I wanted to know... no biggie," and then continued to chunter, "just hadn't realised I was askin' for the moon here."

Harry sighed extravagantly. "Don't get upset, darling." She held a hand out to him, indicating he should sit back down beside her. "Remember your blood pressure."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," and as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he placed an arm about her shoulders and with a perfunctory squeeze he kissed her forehead. "What would I do without you, huh?"

The girl nervously bit her lip. "Give me a shout when you're ready for more drinks – on the house," she told them before making herself scarce.

They smiled at each other conspiratorially.

"Guess I should get us a table," Dempsey proposed.

"What a good idea," she said mildly and picking up her glass, raised it just a fraction higher than was necessary in what might have been a mock salute to their small triumph.

Dempsey winked and sauntered away to make the reservation.

...

"You not gonna eat that?" he asked, looking at the mini skewer of charcoal grilled lamb that remained untouched on Harry's plate.

She pushed her plate towards him. "Why don't you have it?" she smirked.

"Thanks!" he said, as though surprised by her suggestion, "I will."

"Ever the human dustbin then, Dempsey?"

He grinned. "Not so much these days – too much of a battle goin' on with my gut." He patted his stomach.

Harry refrained from pointing out that he didn't appear to have anything to worry about when she remembered that it would be the second compliment she had paid him in as many hours. Instead, she asked, "Do you still run?"

"Most days although I've kinda let the gym work slide a little. How 'bout you – is the running a regular thing?"

"Not really. I have to force myself to do it. I prefer Yoga and Pilates."

He chewed pensively. "I took a Yoga class once... you have to be real supple..." He let the words drift before quirking an eyebrow. "Yoga _and _Pilates!"

"Yes," she replied evenly, "neither of which, I feel strangely compelled to point out, has anything whatsoever in common with tantric sex or the Karma Sutra."

He squeezed a little lemon over the last piece of lamb. "You sure 'bout that? I think there's gotta be some overlap somewhere. Maybe you ain't doin' it right."

Harry leant across the table and forked a slice of tomato off his plate. "Oh, believe me Dempsey, I'm doing it right... I've had _lots _of practice."

He stopped chewing altogether and seemed to find difficulty in swallowing. "You haven't forgotten about my blood pressure?" he checked, causing Harry to laugh out loud and dribble tomato pips down her chin which she hastily wiped away.

Dempsey was starting to wonder if a visit to his G.P really might be in order, the way his heart seemed to be racing when he was around Harry. She was the only woman who'd ever made him feel that way – like he was a fifteen year old boy with a crush – and it was unnerving to have someone else in control of his emotions.

They stared at each other, both feeling the connection that had never completely severed.

The moment quickly evaporated and the conversation continued for a while over their empty plates until the waiter came along to offer dessert. They both declined but agreed to coffee.

Harry checked her watch. "Ten past nine. How long do you want to wait?"

"Long as it takes."

"I appreciate you doing this, you know."

Dempsey shrugged. "Takin' a beautiful woman out to dinner ain't exactly a hardship."

"You know what I mean." She lowered her eyes, feeling a faint blush suffuse her cheeks. She had learnt to accept compliments many years ago, whether from boyfriends, admirers or total strangers and yet she never quite mastered the process when they came from Dempsey.

He smiled. "Let's just call it natural curiosity, probably safer."

"Safer?" she questioned impishly, her chin in her hand.

Dempsey paused, searching her eyes inquisitively. "You know what I mean," he echoed her words.

"Well, well, well, look who it isn't!"

Neither had noticed as Kalivas approached their table nor had they seen him standing behind the bar for the last few minutes, evaluating the situation.

"Lara told me I'd a couple asking after me... never would've guessed in a million years it'd be you two! Took me a minute to place you but I never forget Old Bill."

Dempsey stood up, dropping his napkin on the table and reaching out to shake his hand. "Andy Kalivas! How you doin'?"

"I'm doing well... very well indeed." He turned to Harry. "Ah, the very lovely Sergeant Makepeace, if memory serves... although you've both been on Civvy Street for years, haven't you? Dropped out of sight long before I took over this place."

Dempsey realised he would have to change tack and evidently so did Harry when she held out a hand and announced languidly, "Harriet and Jim and yes, we've both been gambolling very merrily down Civvy Street for more years than I care to remember."

Kalivas took her hand and kissed it. "Years that have been exceptionally kind," he charmed and Harry blinked slowly in recognition of his flattery.

Casually, he drew up a chair from an empty neighbouring table and sat himself down. "So. What brings you here tonight?"

"Hunger?" – from Dempsey.

"... and a natural curiosity," added Harry, glancing at Dempsey.

"It's a good job your sleuthing days are over – that sounds like a lethal combination to me."

Dempsey laughed. "You could be right." And then, stretching back in his chair, he said, "No, actually, seems we have a mutual acquaintance – Sam Tate." He didn't pause but noted the neutral expression as he carried on. "I was over at his place the other night and we got talkin'." He stopped, choosing his words carefully. "See, Harry and me, we like to... party... Know what I mean?" He grinned. "Course you do."

Kalivas gave no indication that he did.

"In fact, I was quite a party animal back in the day, until Harry here showed me the error of my ways... all things in moderation bein' her golden rule."

"And err..." Harry twirled a swathe of hair in her fingers, flirtatiously, "quality not quantity."

Kalivas looked from one to the other, giving the perfect impression of somebody completely in the dark. "Sorry but you've lost me."

Harry sat forward, toying with her empty wine glass now. "Although quantity isn't really an issue for us. Large parties," she explained, "some of which have been," she rolled her eyes, "legendary!"

But Kalivas wasn't biting. "I'm pleased for you but I think you might've got the wrong end of the stick."

"Really?" Harry pouted. "Jim was assured you were the man to come to."

The Greek merely shrugged.

Knowing it was a gamble, Dempsey decided to work with Harry's gut instinct. "Look, I'm real keen to do business here. I know Sam doesn't partake himself but the guy's a shrewd businessman – he knows when he's on to a good thing... good price, great gear etcetera. And what with us knowing you from way back when... seems like Kismet."

Kalivas held his eyes for an interminable length of time before he suddenly got to his feet and signalled to the girl behind the bar, indicating Harry and Dempsey's empty glasses.

He sat back down, smiling expansively. "So. You want to buy," he said quietly. He shook his head, laughing. "You wouldn't believe the number of bent coppers I've got on my books."

"We ain't cops no more, Andy and we weren't bent when we were," Dempsey replied, equably.

"Maybe not 'bent' exactly." He tilted his head to one side. "But 'shaped', certainly."

"Yeah? How'd you work that one out?"

"Remember my old guv'nor, Terry McKintyre?"

It was Dempsey's turn to give nothing away.

"Did him proud when you took the stand that day," said Kalivas.

"You remember that, huh?" Dempsey forced a chuckle but caught the look on Harry's face out of the corner of his eye.

"You were there?" she rasped.

"To be honest, love, I probably wouldn't have got where I am today if it wasn't for Jim here and his sudden attack of amnesia."

Lara arrived with their drinks on a tray and Kalivas thanked her offhandedly.

"Now." He took a card from his inside jacket pocket and gave it to Dempsey. "I don't do that sort of business on these premises – all squeaky clean here you see... don't need our boys in blue sniffin' around. But you give me a ring on that number in a day or two and we'll see if we can't fix something up."

Dempsey tapped the edge of the card on the table before pocketing it. "Perfect!" he beamed. "And just out of interest, what kind of figures are we talkin' here?"

"Minimum spend two kay if you want to deal direct; I take it you're okay with that?"

"Not a problem." He looked across at Harry who seemed to be not altogether focused on the conversation. "We got a few grand to blow, haven't we honey? So to speak." He laughed at his little joke and Harry quickly snapped back together, grabbing up her fresh spritzer. "We have rather a large entertainment budget," she agreed, smiling coolly at Kalivas.

"Well, I'll leave you to it then." He stood up and replaced the chair he'd been using at the table behind. "You both did me a big favour in a round about way," he commented. "Least I can do is set you up a nice little deal."

"What favour was that?" Dempsey asked calmly.

"The trial! After I told Terry what you two was getting up to, I could do no wrong.. Number one son, that was me. Still, you're obviously still together so no harm done, aye?" Kalivas mistook their incredulous silence for incomprehension. "Well, it saved his bacon didn't it, you having to give duff evidence. I was his blue-eyed boy after that – eventually handed down his little empire to me – years later of course."

"Yeah? Guess we all got what we wanted in the end huh?" Dempsey's short laugh sounded fake, even to his own ears but he dutifully shook hands and looked on anxiously as Harry did the same.

"And don't worry about the bill; all this reminiscing has put me in a good mood."

They sat and watched in silence as he disappeared into a back room beyond the bar.

"He can take his freebie," said Dempsey, tightly as he yanked his wallet from out of his trouser pocket, "and he can shove it right up his fat Greek ass." He slammed a wad of notes down on the table. "Let's get outta here. I suddenly feel like I may be seein' that food again pretty soon."

"It was him!" said Harry in an abnormally high voice.

"C'mmon, let's go."

He helped her to her feet and guided her to the door.

"It was him, Dempsey!"

He could feel the muscles across her back twitching beneath his hand and each step she took seemed more of an effort than the last.

By the time they reached the car, she was trembling all over. He watched as she passed the back of her hand across her mouth.

"I want him," she whispered, "no matter what it takes, I want him."

"Okay," he told her with a calmness he wasn't feeling, "we can do that. We play this thing right and he's ours. Okay, tiger?"

She nodded, unable to make eye contact.

"Let's get you home." Dempsey opened her door for her.

"No!" She ran a hand through her hair. "No, I don't want to go home yet... I can't just sit there and... "

Harry turned to him, her eyes pleading for him to tell her what it was she needed to do.

"Fine. Just get in. We'll go someplace else."


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

They drove in complete silence. Every so often, Dempsey turned his head to check on her, wondering if she was going to keep it together for much longer. He noticed her left hand resting on her knee, thumb and forefinger stiff, her ring finger rubbing compulsively against her upturned palm. Somehow, it was a familiar gesture though he couldn't think why. He reached across to still the movement, encasing her hand for a moment. "Hey!"

She pulled away. Sorry," she apologised needlessly before lapsing back into her own little world.

...

"Where are we?" Harry asked when Dempsey switched the engine off.

The continuous purr of the car along with the gentle motion had cradled her emotions whilst Dempsey drove but now the sudden stillness and the quiet jarred her back to life.

"My place."

Harry squinted through the windscreen at the old converted coach house in front of them, the stone arched mullion windows glinting in the last few rays of sunlight, the sweet honey-yellow of a laburnum tree in the foreground drawing her eye to the dark green front door beside it.

Without comment, she got out of the car and stood waiting for him to lead the way.

"Care to join me in a very stiff drink?" he asked, once inside.

Harry looked about her, not really focusing on any one thing but absorbing a sense of tranquillity that eased the rawness she felt. The room was quite neutral... no, natural... elemental; white, cream, soft pastel hues that made her think of the sea and of being somewhere where the rest of the world didn't need to exist for a while - the lazy, beachcombing holidays of a fondly remembered childhood.

"It's lovely," she said wistfully, sinking down into a cream cotton sofa.

"Thanks." He handed her a glass. "Here. Chivas Regal. You still like it?"

She stared at the glass as she nursed it in her hands. "I don't know... I suppose so."

"Harry..." Dempsey sat cautiously on the edge of the sofa beside her.

"It shouldn't matter any more, should it?" she pre-empted him. "It really doesn't make any difference now." She smiled across at him as she sipped at the whisky.

Dempsey looked down into his own glass. "So how come I wanted to pulverize the bastard?"

"Maybe you're just being overly sentimental."

Harry rose up abruptly then, her trembling hand arched against her brow. "I just can't help thinking..." She laughed shakily. "Sometimes it doesn't pay to think too deeply though, does it?"

"Maybe not."

He watched her moving about the room, her fingers trailing over the long, low sideboard, the ornate metal base of a lamp, the back of a chair, acquainting herself with his possessions.

"You got regrets, Harry?" he dared himself to ask aloud.

She wheeled round, a hand on her hip, her glass mid-air. "Me?" She pulled a humorous face and her eyes glittered as though she had had too much to drink. "Some, I suppose." The hand holding the glass moved forwards a little, a finger pointing. "No, actually that's a lie; I've always regretted what happened. – all my life. That's no way to live, is it, Dempsey?" She caught her breath, realising that what she'd said had been far too honest. She lowered her eyes and drank.

Dempsey took a hefty swallow of his own drink. "Yeah, tell me about it," he smiled wanly with a dip of the head.

Her eyes narrowed. "I'd rather not."

She went to the cupboard bearing the spirits and opened it up again. "You don't mind do you?" she asked, "this is rather good," and she helped herself to a top up. Holding up the bottle, she raised her eyebrows. "An eighteen year old Chivas Regal – very nice. May I freshen your glass?" she asked with mock pomposity.

He got up and held his glass out to her. Her hand shook as she poured and a few drops dribbled down the outside of the glass.

"Whoops!" she giggled, running a forefinger up the side of the glass and licking the whisky off it.

Dempsey took the bottle from her, pulling it from her clamped fingers. She was so brittle he could almost see the hairline cracks appearing in her facade.

"Sweetheart... "

But her attention was suddenly drawn to the other side of the room. "Gosh – the mirror!" She strode over to the pewter framed mirror he'd purchased when they'd had lunch together in Kingston two weeks previously and stood back to admire it. "You were right, you know – this is the perfect spot for it. It's gorgeous, isn't it?"

She smiled at him radiantly in the mirror as he approached.

"I think we should talk, Harry."

"What about?" The smile was practically a grimace.

"'bout us."

"There is no 'us'" – a crisp, tinkling laugh.

"Well, there's something otherwise we wouldn't be standing here having this conversation." He sounded very serious. Harry's smile slowly dissolved.

"So? What is it you so desperately want me to say? "

He was standing behind her, so close that she could feel the fabric of his shirt brushing her bare shoulder and the heat from his body on her back.

"Why're you makin' out like you don't care? You're strung out like washin' in the wind, Harry!"

"It doesn't mean I want to talk about it."

"But you want payback for what Kalivas did?"

She nodded.

Dempsey sighed deeply. "Guess that means you're lettin' somethin' out I guess."

Raising her glass to her lips, Harry met his eyes in the mirror again. "God, have you any idea how bloody... American, you sound?" she asked, testily.

"What, 'cause I might just occasionally let my guard down?"

"Meaning I don't?"

"Meanin' you won't."

"Dempsey," she said, matter of factly, staring hard at him in the mirror, "an hour ago, I was making goo-goo eyes at the man who very probably wrecked the course of my life so you'll have to excuse me if I seem a bit uptight to you." She crossed her arms. "This is the same man who's been selling hard drugs to someone I was trying to have a serious relationship with by the way. Kalivas isn't exactly flavour of the month with me but that doesn't mean I have to fall apart and bare my soul." Harry frowned. "Would you feel happier if I was blubbing down your shirt front?"

She used the mirror to look him up and down, imperiously.

Dempsey cocked his head to one side. "Better, Harry," he grinned, "you're gettin' there."

She tutted and turned slightly to shove him away from her. She was smiling.

They resumed their previous positions in the mirror, watching for the others next move.

"So, what're you gonna do 'bout Sam the Man?"

"I'm going to a party with him in the West End tomorrow night. Might be useful."

"Useful?" Dempsey frowned. "Hey, c'mmon, you can't go stirrin' this thing up on your own."

"If I'm going to be there anyway, I may as well make a few discreet enquiries."

"Not a great idea. Supposin' Kalivas decides to get in touch with lover-boy and they put two and two together?"

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"You want me to spell it out for you?" Dempsey's eyes widened in wonder, perplexed by her seeming stupidity. "Thought you didn't wanna talk about what Kalivas did for us, Harry. The guy's got his own bevy of hoodlums now – I'm sure he'd only have to say the word."

She looked away from the mirror.

"Hey." The knuckles of the hand holding his glass lightly grazed up and down her arm, drawing her back to him instantly. "I'm workin' tomorrow night – I can't be there for you. Just cry off sick, make out you got a headache or somethin'."

"I don't need you to 'be there' for me. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself so you can do your song and dance routine with impunity."

"My what?" he smirked.

Her eyes danced mischievously and she sipped her drink, watching him.

One finger slid along the inside of her arm as he asked, "You makin' fun of me?"

"Possibly."

She watched him looking down as his finger continued to move along the soft skin of her inner arm. There was a look on his face that fascinated her and she found she was holding her breath.

Suddenly he stopped and brought the whisky glass to his mouth, meeting her eyes again in the mirror. "Don't go takin' no risks."

She felt strangely disoriented, as though she might over-balance without his hand upon her. Unconsciously, she leaned back a fraction, seeking out contact with him again but he moved to the side, placing his now empty glass on a chest of drawers.

"So I have your consent then, do I?" she asked with tempered sarcasm.

"Like that would make a difference."

He had stepped back to the mirror and now he brought his head down close to Harry's. "You're gonna do what you wanna do anyway, right?"

His voice was deep and quiet and she found herself mesmerised by the sound and by the sight of his lips moving so close to hers. If she turned her head now, if she looked away from the mirror...

Slowly, Dempsey straightened up.

"I'm a big girl, James," she said huskily.

"And Kalivas is a big player." His voice was infinitely gentle when he said, "I don't want him hurting you again through Sam."

"He won't. I don't think Sam is the man I thought he was, is he? And..." she bit her lip, feeling both his hands closing around her upper arms and rubbing in tender consolation. "... and it wasn't as if it was going to be the romance of the century."

There was no smart follow-up, only a wry smile.

"I don't know why I'm still so angry," she mused, half to herself. "It was all so many years ago." She was having difficulty concentrating. The way he was making her feel with his physical presence alone was mind-numbing but his hands on her bare arms was making it doubly hard.

"Good to be angry, so long as you can let it go."

"Good? Why?"

"'cause it means you got passion." His right hand slowly travelled back down her arm, over her forearm, encircling her wrist for a moment before his fingertips splayed across the back of her hand. "Gotta have passion, Harry."

His eyes came back to hers in the mirror.

"I don't think I've been passionate about anything for a long time," she said quietly.

His fingers were back to stroking inside the crook of her elbow, his left hand still lightly holding her upper arm. "No?" he asked mildly but his eyes were radiating a fierce heat that was anything but. "There was a time when you were passionate about everything; the job, havin' a good time..."

He didn't need to say 'us' because Harry heard it anyway. She licked her lips and quickly drank down the last of her Chivas Regal to alleviate the dryness in her throat. "Must've lost the knack somewhere along the way."

_Oh god! That feels so good. Have you got any idea how wonderful that is?_

They were quiet for a moment. Then Dempsey decided to push her a little further.

"Tell me what you regret."

She looked down, smiling. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Dempsey?"

His left hand moved easily down to her hip, bringing them just that little bit closer. "Okay," he drawled, "then I'll tell you what I regret."

He felt her tense and automatically, he pressed his lips to the back of her head, inhaling the shampoo smell of her hair.

_Wanna know what you're thinkin', Angel. Let me in._

"It ain't the leavin' I regret, it's the not comin' back."

He let his fingertips glide lightly up and down her arm, feeling her shiver. "We needed the time apart... _I_ needed the time... but after I'd got myself together, I should of come home."

"But I'd told you to stay away..."

His mouth grazed the side of her neck and she moaned aloud.

"I picked one helluva time to start listenin' to you, huh?" he whispered against her ear. "Had a choice after I got back on track; I could go to Jersey or I could come back to London. I figured I was too late. Six months had gone by and I thought it was too late."

The room was getting dark now. The long summer days descended quickly into night at this time of year.

When Dempsey's left hand came up to brush away the fall of hair from the back of her neck, Harry let her head fall forward, allowing his questing lips access.

_Don't talk, James. Please don't talk._

She hadn't known she was still capable of such arousal, at least, not fully clothed and vertical. The way he had sensitised her naked skin was building up an alarmingly volatile reaction in her body that seemed to be guiding her to a kind of summit. She lifted her head, seeking out his eyes in the near darkness. His arm moved around her waist, pulling her back against him and she felt his need as he held her captive in the mirror.

She made an unintelligible sound somewhere in the back of her throat and her eyes closed.

"Was it too late?" he pushed, as she'd known he would.

It had never been too late – not really.

"It wouldn't have worked," she breathed - the mantra she had been using forever, it seemed.

At last, his fingers stilled.

"And now?"

He gripped her arm tightly by the wrist and held it at her side, subjugating her with a strength that at the same time bound them together. Looking away from the mirror finally, Dempsey forced her to meet his true eyes and she was entranced by the intensity of what she saw there. She shook her head slightly, almost paralysed.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I don't want to talk?"

Harry wrenched herself free of him and looked up defiantly. "So why don't you just shut up, James?"

And in the next breath, her hands were drawing his head down to hers and her lips were covering his mouth.


	41. Chapter 41

_**In case you hadn't realised, I finished off the rest of Ch.40 on Friday so if you haven't already, you'll need to read that first.**_

**_Although this is a 'Then' chapter, it isn't a depressing one - honestly. lol_**

**_Please, please review - I thrive on your feedback!_**

_Chapter 41_

_It was cold tonight. Harry hugged her coat around her as she hurried up the steps. Dempsey paid the taxi off and caught up with her, rubbing his hands together whilst he waited for her to unlock the front door. It was still relatively early as they'd decided on just going the cinema in the end, having had a quick bite to eat first._

"_What was that?" he asked, glancing over to the parked cars to their left. "You hear somethin'?"_

_Harry listened, an indulgent smile playing at her mouth. "James, you always think you can hear something. You've been a cop too long."_

_Harry went inside whilst Dempsey lingered. She leaned out of the half-closed door. "Come on... you can make a fire up while I make tea."_

_Dempsey didn't move. "There! You hear it that time? Kind of like a squeaking gate."_

_Harry pretended to listen attentively. "Mm. Maybe it was... a squeaking gate?" she teased._

"_Gimme a minute."_

_He bounded back down the steps._

"_James!" she hissed into the dark. "Come on, it's cold!"_

_"Yeah, yeah, just a sec."_

_"I'm shutting the door," she threatened with a giggle._

_Methodically, he patrolled up and down the three cars; his, hers and a neighbour's. _

_Harry heard it too the next time. "I think it came from down there."_

_She pointed to the corner of the house, just beneath a window. Harry watched him move slowly along the length of the wall until he got to the drainpipe to the right of the window where he got down on his haunches._

"_Whoa! Look what we got here."_

_Her interest sufficiently piqued, she came back out onto the top step to peer down. "What is it?"_

_The high-pitched squeak sounded again._

"_Okay buddy, I gotcha."_

_He appeared to be tussling with something in the grate and Harry craned her neck to get a better view. Suddenly, he got to his feet, thrusting the 'something' inside his leather jacket and loping back up the steps to Harry. He had a broad grin on his face when he said, "We got a little visitor."_

"_What?" she asked suspiciously, wrinkling her nose at the thought of whatever it was he'd pulled out of the muck-rimed grate._

_In the kitchen now, he opened up his jacket to reveal a dirty little bundle of spiky fur that upon being exposed to the light, began to mew pitifully._

"_It's a kitten!" she exclaimed in amazement._

"_See, this is what makes you such a great detective; always there – bam! Sharp as a knife," he grinned._

"_It's filthy!"_

"_But cute. You two have so much in common already."_

"_Funny." She stroked a finger around its chin and it mewed again, looking up at her with big, frightened eyes._

"_What do you intend doing with it?" she asked rather disdainfully but her words were belied by the little dip of her head and the smile tugging at her lips as she continued to stroke the kitten._

"_Give it somethin' to eat and clean it up, I guess."_

"_And then?"_

_Dempsey smirked. "You're a hard woman, Harriet Makepeace."_

_She rolled her eyes. "Go and find a box for it then, shall I?"_

_From the utility room she called out, "Anyway, I don't really 'get' cats. We always had dogs when I was growing up. Daddy's kept Labs for as long as I can remember."_

"_Had a cat when I was a kid," Dempsey called back. "She was a stray like this one. Just turned up one day and adopted us."_

_Harry came back into the kitchen carrying an empty Berry Bros & Rudd wine case._

"_We called her Porky, on account of her bein' so thin when she first showed up."_

"_Naturally." She put the box down on the floor._

"_You got a blanket or somethin' to put in there?" He nodded towards the box._

"_A blanket as well!" she sallied. "So not only have I had to turf out the last two bottles of '79 Chateau Rieussec – you want me to ruin a blanket too."_

_Dempsey held up the kitten so it was within inches of her face. "C'mmon Harry. Look at that little face." The kitten reached out a pink padded paw and patted her nose with a tiny meow. _

"_There's that cashmere sweater I put in the jumble bag the other week."_

"_The one you spilt black bean sauce down?"_

"_No, the one '_you'_ spilt black bean sauce down trying to force feed me."_

"_You could hardly see that!"_

"_I could see it and it stained. God knows what food colourings that Chinese Take-Away uses."_

_She watched as he tore off another sheet of paper towel and wet it under the tap before wiping it over the kitten's dishevelled fur._

"_You're a mucky little guy, huh?" he smiled._

_She didn't think she'd ever heard him use the word 'mucky' before – it wasn't something Americans said, was it? He was quite absorbed in his task, enjoying what he was doing and his eyes were wonderfully crinkled at the corners. Harry went and stood behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek at his shoulder whilst she continued to watch. This was a side to him that very few people ever got to see. The guys at the office would be amazed to see this gentle, caring Dempsey and no doubt he'd be mortified if they did. Why couldn't it be like this all the time? Why did the outside world have to be so intrusive?_

"_I suppose I'd better look for something for it to eat."_

"_Maybe a saucer of milk to start out." He turned his head and planted a kiss on her forehead. "I'll get it. You hang onto him a minute."_

_She moved back and took the little animal out of his hands, laughing as it squirmed slightly._

_Dempsey crossed to the fridge and took out a bottle of milk. _

"_Erm..." she drew his attention with a playfully condescending tone, "I do hope you're going to warm that first, James. You'll give the poor little thing a tummy ache."_

_..._

_Two o'clock in the morning saw Dempsey stretched out on the sofa with his head propped up on cushions, the television on low. The sleeping kitten was on his chest, the sleeping Harriet lying alongside him with her head on his shoulder._

_They'd had more fun playing with the black and white scrap of fluff and a scrunched up piece of tinfoil than they'd had the rest of the night! They were both still so much on tenterhooks, it almost wasn't worth the hassle of going out at all. Whenever they went to a club, Harry seemed to find it nigh-on impossible to relax unless she'd sunk a few too many and the last couple of times, she'd actually finished the evening with her head down the toilet which just wasn't Harry at all. He knew why though – nerves. She got her guts all twisted up, worrying about the consequences of their 'togetherness' and the alcohol that loosened her up, that made her tactile and demonstrative, eventually turned against her. So whilst she worried about 'them', he worried about 'her'. Oh, and of course there was always the regular stream of 'Posh Totty' and 'Bronx Cowboy' jokes, depending on which well-meaning friends they were with. Didn't seem to bother Harry personally but he'd noticed the tight smiles when it was directed at him and instead of getting easier to accept, he found the jibes stinging his ego just a little bit harder each time._

_He hated it. He hated not being in control, not being in control of being in love. It wasn't supposed to be that way was it? Or maybe it was – love hurt, that's how all the songs went. He wasn't even enjoying the job the same as he used to these days although he couldn't figure any real reason for that._

_The end of November - that was what he was living for right now. They'd got the leave approved by Spikings and as they'd planned, were headed for The States. They had the tickets, a hotel for one week and a room ready and waiting at his mom's for Thanksgiving week. He'd made an old lady very happy, well, he and Harry. He hadn't seen any family in so long and now to be going home and taking his woman with him... she thought all her Thanksgivings had come at once. It made him smile to think of the family's reaction to Harry – that accent alone would blow them away! _

_This was exactly what the two of them needed; two weeks of being a real couple, of being together without a care in the world, of walking hand in hand down Fifth Avenue and Harry running wild in Saks department store. And they'd meet up with his ex-colleagues of the N.Y.P.D. The look on their faces when he introduced them to his English partner (in every sense of the word) would be priceless._

_Photographs! That was what he wanted – lots of photographs. Literally the only photographs he had of them had come from a train station photo booth; a strip of four sappy poses, grinning and kissing like teenagers. Now they would have a whole album entitled 'Our Vacation'._

_And if things went well, he had every intention of laying his cards on the table. Stomach-churningly serious stuff but it was make-or-break, wasn't it? They couldn't carry on as they were forever and the only way he could see out of it was to just go for it, make some kind of commitment to her. However you dressed up that word it would involve big changes. One of them would have to leave SI-10, he didn't care which one just so long as the departure signalled a new beginning for them. It could work - they could make it work. They spent all their days together and so many of their nights which was a recipe for disaster for most couples so surely less time together would work out just fine. And then they could enjoy their relationship properly, in their own place with no worries other than what drapes to choose and arguing over whose turn it was to wash the dishes. Maybe she'd consider marriage one day but she was way too bitter about her marriage to Robert Makepeace still to be interested in taking things that far and she seemed to delight in ridiculing it as a 'flawed' institution. _

_Dempsey looked down at the black and white kitten sleeping peacefully on his chest. And the way she'd come around to this little dufus had got him wondering if her maternal instincts might kick in some time in the near future. Now that surely was a crazy thought._

_He felt Harry's body jerk against him and she gave a tiny grunt but remained asleep and her arm snaked a little tighter around his waist. The delicate silver bracelet he'd given her slid down her wrist. He watched her hand flex and twist, a finger curling in to cover the silver puff heart. Although she wore it a lot more now, even at work on occasion, she had this habit of hiding the little engraved heart in the palm of her hand just on the off-chance that somebody should notice the' J heart H' lettering on it. It seemed that even her subconscious had the desire for secrecy._

_A fresh start, yeah, he would propose a fresh start for the new year._


	42. Chapter 42

**I've realised that I missed out the last paragraph of chapter 41 - I write the story in notebooks and I obviously didn't turn over the page for this last bit when I was typing it up - sorry. It has some bearing on Ch.40 - not crucial but it does relate to it so you might like to have a quick look.**

**Everybody's been saying that they prefer the 'Now' chapters so here's another 'Then' chapter LOL. Had to do it this way but rest assured, Ch.43 is a 'Now'.**

_Chapter 42_

_The staccato blast of the gunshot reverberated along the length of the deserted alley. The sound sickened Dempsey but the sight of the skinny girl holding up her arms against the bullet made his heart bleed. _

_When Terry McKintyre looked up from his deed, gun still poised and met Dempsey's eyes there was such a roving, adrenaline savagery there that Dempsey feared for his own life. Breathing hard and grinning as though he'd played some deadly practical joke, McKintyre turned and fled. Dempsey ran after him, his own gun drawn but paused to check on the condition of the girl. To his surprise, she was still alive though barely and he was torn between getting her help and pursuing McKintyre. But the gunning of an engine and subsequent screech of tyres made the decision easy. As it turned out, she died before she made it to hospital, never having opened her eyes again._

_..._

_A buzz of excitement fizzed through the courtroom as Dempsey was cross-examined on the stand. The defence was having a field day with him; undermining his integrity as a police officer and slashing to ribbons his credibility as a witness._

_Spikings, stony-faced and resolute sat with his arms crossed watching his officer throw away their chance of a conviction. He appeared impervious to the looks being cast from either side of him; Chas Jarvis – nervous and uncomprehending, Harry Makepeace, desperately trying to assimilate some sort of logic for her partner's change of heart._

"_So, basically, what you are saying, Lieutenant Dempsey, is that you are unable to confirm one way or the other, the identity of the man you saw in the alleyway that day... the man who shot and subsequently killed Helen Armitage?" McKintyre's defence solicitor waited patiently for Dempsey's response._

"_That's correct," he replied. "I couldn't say for definite who it was with the gun."_

_There was a rash of clapping and foot-stomping from high up in the public gallery as McKintyre's supporters showed their approval._

"_What's going on, Sir?" Chas hissed, still staring at his colleague on the stand._

_Spikings didn't answer._

_The "Sir!" from Makepeace wasn't quite a question, more a reaction. This wasn't the evidence Dempsey had proposed to give or even anything approximating it. McKintyre was guilty as sin and should be looking at a twenty year stretch._

_The three of them sat in rigid silence for the next twenty minutes as the ends were tied into bows and the judge completed his summing up._

_The noise from McKintyre's entourage was deafening when the 'not guilty' verdict was given._

_Outside the courtroom, Dempsey was filtered out into the hallway and thrown to the mercy of his colleagues who were waiting with quiet impatience._

"_Well?" Chief Superintendent Spikings was the first to speak._

_Dempsey carried on walking, a scowl on his face._

"_That was a question, Lieutenant. Granted, I could have put it rather more succinctly but never-the-less, I do require an answer."_

"_Have you lost your mind, Dempsey?" Makepeace exploded, completely disregarding her boss's precedence. "What the hell were you thinking of?"_

_He ignored her._

_Spikings reached out and grabbed Dempsey's arm, forcing him to stop. "You _will _answer me, Dempsey. You just let that animal get away with murder – at least do me the courtesy of telling me why."_

_He spun around, his face contorted with anger. "Like I just told the judge in there, couldn't be sure it was McKintyre. It was good enough for His Worship, it should be good enough for you."_

"_Well I'm afraid it isn't. You changed your evidence, Dempsey and I want to know why."_

"_Couldn't be sure it was McKintyre," he repeated, stolidly._

"_Bullshit!" This from Makepeace, her hair flying out as she turned away in disgust._

_Yeah, well, live with it sweetheart."_

"_You let him get away with it, Dempsey!" Chas exclaimed, clearly frustrated by what was happening. "We could've nailed him today."_

"_We? Didn't hear you tellin' the judge how you stood and watched some hooker get herself wasted."_

"_But she didn't get herself wasted, did she?" ground Spikings, "McKintyre did that."_

_Makepeace regarded him contemptuously. "And 'some hooker' was actually an eighteen year old kid who made some bad life choices."_

"_I don't need you lecturing me, Sergeant, okay?"_

"_Lecturing you!" Her hands clenched into fists at her sides and then she suddenly lashed out, slamming her hand into his chest. "What's the matter with you? You let him get away with it. We had the bastard and you let him walk away."_

"_And I'm walkin' to," he snarled, pushing past her._

_Just then, a commotion at the end of the hallway made them turn as one._

"_Alright, mate?" called out Terry McKintyre as he swaggered towards them. A grinning, strutting group of smartly suited villains brought up the rear._

"_I ain't your 'mate'," Dempsey told him, icily._

_McKintyre laughed hoarsely. "Well with enemies like you, who need friends, aye?"_

_The entourage laughed appreciatively._

"_Anyway, just wanted to have a wander over to say thank you."_

_Spikings wafted a hand at him. "Why don't you push off, McKintyre. Whatever little victory you think you've pulled off, I can assure you you're mistaken if you think it had anything to do with my officer."_

"_Different breed, Mr Spikings, our American cousins. Their legal system works a bit different to ours, don't it?"_

_Chas put a hand on Dempsey's shoulder, giving him a gentle push. "Time to go, Jim."_

_McKintyre caught Makepeace's eye and beamed warmly. "Innit lovely, aye gel?" He winked. "Must've been creamin' yer knickers listenin' to 'im up there on the stand."_

"_I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," she answered coldly._

_McKintyre grinned, sucking in his breath lasciviously. "Gorgeous!" he murmured. "Tell you what, I could get blisters on me right 'and just thinkin' about you, darlin'."_

_It took both Jarvis and Spikings to restrain Dempsey and the court security guards who had been keeping a watchful eye on the gathering decided it was time to intervene._

_As McKintyre and his cronies walked away, he began to whistle a tune that was soon taken up by the rest of them. A youth, clad incongruously for court in tracksuit and trainers was pulled over to McKintyre and submitted happily to having his hair ruffled. The kid was known to them; came from a hard-working family of Greek restaurateurs but preferred to get his kicks house-breaking and puffing weed with his mates. _

"_Good boy," McKintyre laughed and they all joined in to sing the chorus. "The things we do for love... the things we do for love."_

_Spikings turned calmly to Dempsey. "Think you and I need a bit of a tete a tete in my office, wouldn't you agree, Lieutenant?"_

"_Sorry, Chief," Dempsey grated, "got other plans," and he strode off down the hallway at a pace._

"_Oh no you don't, Sunny Jim," Spikings muttered. It went against the grain to chase after a subordinate, particularly when that subordinate was a loud-mouthed, non-conformist, cheeky Yank bastard like Dempsey but for some unknown reason, he followed him out into the crisp, autumnal October afternoon. Shielding his eyes against an unexpected watery burst of sunshine, Spikings surveyed the car park from the top of the court steps and spotted his target weaving his way towards his grey Mercedes._

"_Dempsey!" he bellowed and charged down the steps in pursuit of his quarry._

_Dempsey found himself faced with a dilemma; he could either stop the car and surrender to whatever tirade Spikings intended subjecting him to or – he could just mow him down. The face that he actually took a couple of seconds to consider the two options was testament to his frame of mind and Spikings, knowing to some extent how Dempsey's mind worked, gritted his teeth and steeled his nerve as the car snarled towards him._

_The nerve held and fortunately, the Mercedes stopped. Spikings slammed his hands onto the bonnet. "Get out. NOW!"_

_With both hands clutching the top of the steering wheel, Dempsey hunkered down to leer menacingly at his boss. It was set to be a battle of wills until Chas and Harry arrived and after calmly opening the driver's side door, Harry stood back with her arms folded._

_Dempsey hammered a fist against the centre of the steering wheel, mumbled several expletives and yanked the key from the ignition before hurling himself from the vehicle._

"_It's called perjury, Dempsey," said Makepeace harshly, "and the British justice system doesn't like it." But that was the least of her worries and she knew it._

_Chas eyed the overcharged Dempsey warily as he said, "I suspect it's called 'looking after your own'."_

_Spikings looked at him but said nothing, instead, turning to watch Dempsey who was standing with his elbows on the roof of the car, hands running through his hair._

"_So, the technical term for it is, you've been 'got at'. Is that correct, Dempsey?" Spikings asked. "McKintyre found out," he said with finality._

"_Yep. You were right all along," Dempsey said through gritted teeth. "Guess that's why they put you in charge."_

_Chas shoved his hands into his pockets, looking uncomfortable. "He found out about you and Harry," he surmised._

"_Give that man a big cigar." Dempsey half turned, not taking his elbows from the car. "So how long've you known?" He laughed loudly, not waiting for an answer. "You hear that, babe?" he asked Harry brightly. "The jig's up. We got busted. Shoulda listened to you – shoulda been more careful, huh?"_

_Harry was looking down at the ground, one hand on her hip, the other covering her mouth._

"_And you didn't think to run this one past me?" Spikings put to him. "It never even entered that quagmire of a head of yours to tell me what was going on with McKintyre?"_

_Dempsey leaned back on the car with his arms up behind his head and his ankles crossed over in a deceptively nonchalant pose. "Yeah, 'cause that would of made all the difference."_

"_You should have trusted me, Dempsey. Whatever threats were made, whatever he promised or insinuated, you didn't have to change your evidence."_

_Spikings took a step closer, flinging an arm up in his frustration. "You've put yourself on his payroll, man!"_

_After a pause, Dempsey pushed himself upright. "Want me to tell you what McKintyre 'insinuated'?" He brushed a thumb against the corner of his mouth, smiling. "He 'insinuated' that he was gonna give your Sergeant here to the pack of animals he calls his business associates." He kept his eyes on Spikings, carefully keeping Harry out of his peripheral vision. "And after they'd done with her, McKintyre would take a gun and personally... personally mind you..." his modulated tones were rapidly increasing in volume, "put a bullet through her f*?king brain!" Veins stood out at his temples and his forehead gleamed with sweat. "You get it now, Chief, huh? You see where I'm comin' from?"_

"_Dempsey..." Spikings began quietly._

"_What? You would of organised a safe house? Round the clock protection, right?" he yelled. "And this would last for... what, three, maybe four months? A year maybe? Five years?" Dempsey smashed his fist against the side of the door. "McKintyre made me a promise, Chief; if I gave evidence against him, if he was put away – no matter how long it took, he would make sure there'd be someone to do it." He put himself right into Spikings' face. So you tell me, big man, what the f*?k would you've done about that?" He hit out at the Mercedes again, fists and feet lashing out in an ungovernable, violent rage and then dragging the driver's door open, he threw himself back inside._

_The shriek of tyres filled the cold, still air as he tore away from them._

_Spikings stood and watched the departure, his palm slowly stroking over his thinning, silver grey hair. "Why couldn't you, just for once've done it by the book?" he asked quietly._

_Behind him, Chas put a tentative arm around Harry's shoulders. She stiffened and raised her chin._

"_Alright love," he said in a low voice._

"_Fine, Chas. I'm just fine," she answered rigidly. "Excuse me." She walked away, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the devitalising tears that sprang now from nowhere until she was in her own car and had driven a good mile from the court building. Finally, in a little side road behind the Gresham High Street shops, she parked up - just before she felt her heart break._


	43. Chapter 43

Sorry it's been so long since the last update.

**Chapter 43**

**It didn't seem real somehow, like a fragment of life snatched from the past. With her eyes shut tight, she could be anywhere and in any time but she knew she was with him because only he could make all her senses scream in harmony like this.**

**Her fingers stroked through the back of his hair, grazing across his neck with tantalizing fingernails. She too remembered how he liked to be touched but it was with an automatic instinct that she responded to him. There was no real thought process involved, just an all-encompassing blanket of desire.**

**Their mouths clung greedily, their bodies pushing and pressing against each other in silent battle. When they eventually stopped for breath, they drew away laughing in wonderment at their unexpected rush of lust.**

"**Must've forgotten it was by birthday," Dempsey smiled down at her, a hand gently cupping her jaw. "And I think you threw Christmas in there too."**

**Harry's hands moved up behind his back, holding herself to him. "I hadn't planned on that happening," she told him with a hint of bashfulness.**

"**Spur of the moment works for me just fine." His mouth dipped back to hers and his lips were slow and teasing this time, designed to elicit a parallel response. But Harry couldn't keep her need for him at bay any longer than a few moments and her mouth crushed hard against his, demanding more and gratefully receiving it. When his hands slid ravenously over the hourglass of her body to cradle her buttocks, Harry readily allowed him to drag her into him, revelling in the feel of the most intimate of contact between them.**

"**Oh Lord," she moaned, latching hungry fingers over the waistband of his trousers as he drove her roughly up against the mirror.**

"**You've got no idea how much I want you, Harry," he growled against her hear, "how much I've missed you."**

**He suddenly became very still as he repeated, "I've missed you."**

"**I've missed you too." And she had, had known it since she went to the bar that first time. She raised a hand to his cheek and gazed into his soft brown eyes. It was then that the reality of the situation struck her and her conscience, that until now had remained dormant, chose to bite deep. Those beautiful brown eyes and all of the deceit they implied hit her harder than she had ever thought possible. **

"**What's wrong?" he asked, sensing her reticence.**

"**It's too soon," she whispered.**

**Dempsey smiled at the irony and then said, "Feels like perfect timing to me."**

"**I'm sorry."**

"**Okay," he said slowly. "Just that it seemed like we were both headed in the same direction there." He didn't move his hands away but gave her some space by leaning back. She'd gone cold on him – again. She got a little closer to him each time and then the alarm bells sounded and the barriers came crashing down.**

"**We were… we are."**

**Dempsey lifted his eyebrows. "I'm hearing' a but comin' up," he gave her bottom a small squeeze, " and I'm guessin' it ain't gonna be as pretty as this one."**

"**I don't want to rush into something," she began awkwardly, "until things are sorted out."**

"**Things?"**

"**Well, this business with Sam, for one."**

"**Okay," he conceded that.**

"**And I think we should take the time to… well," her fingers played with the open neck of his shirt, "get to know each other again."**

**Dempsey grinned. "Are we talking about dating?" he ribbed gently.**

**She eyed him warily. "I don't know if I'd put it in quite those terms, Dempsey. Let's not run before we can walk."**

"**Wow! No strings – this just gets better!"**

**She nudged herself against him, giving him 'the look'. "I'm just offering you a get-out before things get too messy."**

"**Now there's a euphemism with a real visual quality."**

"**James!" she exclaimed. "I'm serious. Twenty-three years changes people. I know it's changed me; I'm not the same person I was." Her hands rested at his shoulders. "And I don't want you to be disappointed when you realise that the reality doesn't live up to the memory."**

**Dempsey casually brushed his fingers against the lock of hair by her ear. "No complaints so far."**

"**I mean it," she pressed, frowning slightly. "There're things that… " she hesitated, "well, it isn't like you know everything about me."**

"**True but I hope I'm gonna have fun findin' out."**

**Puzzled by her weak smile, he asked, "What, you working undercover for al-Qaida? You've served time in jail?"**

"**Don't be silly," she answered softly.**

"**Then stop with the negativity."**

**Harry felt his fingers inch around her waist in such an old, familiar action. "What I've seen of you these past three weeks, Harry… you ain't no different inside – where it counts. The twenty-three years is just so much window dressing."**

**Harry smiled. It was true, wasn't it? However long it had been, time was just a veneer. They had known each other's soul and no matter how many years you covered that over with, those souls would remain the same. And yet she felt in a sort of limbo, stuck between her deep-seated need for him but aware that it was a ridiculous notion, to expect that they could just start again as though everything was perfect.**

"**You make it sound so easy." She smoothed his hair back at his left temple.**

"**Maybe it is," he suggested, catching up her hand and kissing it tenderly.**

**Harry kept her eyes on his lips as she hung her arms about his neck. "Dempsey?" she asked coquettishly.**

"**Uh huh?"**

"**D'you know what I'd really like you to do for me – right now?" Her fingernails stroked lazily up and down above his collar.**

**Dempsey grinned. "How many guesses do I get?" he asked her measuredly.**

"**Three of course."**

"**Yeah, yeah, of course," he played along. His eyes roved her face inquisitively as he wondered how this game was going to run. This was the old days when she threw him a little corn and he let her coax him in. "So maybe… " he lowered his mouth to the spot just behind her ear, "you'd like me to kiss you right here?" His lips moved very, very softly against the sensitive skin, making Harry squirm.**

"**No," she denied, laughing, "that isn't it."**

"**Okay. Second guess." His eyes held hers for a moment, making Harry in turn hold her breath.**

"**Go on then," she told in slyly, her top lip snagging slightly at the corner, **"**second guess." **

**Dempsey shivered inside with anticipation.**

**This time, his lips moved along her jaw-line, slowly moving in towards her mouth. She found herself murmuring his name and as she turned her head, surrendering to the pleasure in feline ecstasy, she saw their reflections in the mirror. The sight of him seducing her, their features indistinguishable in the darkness was immensely sensual to her and she swallowed down hard on her stirrings of lust. She forced herself to look away.**

"**Is this what you wanted me to do?" There was a trace of humour in his voice and Harry wondered if it was just because of this game they were playing or because he had realised the over-powering effect he was having on her libido. Well it was she who had started it again; she who had asked the ridiculously provocative question.**

"**You're getting warmer." She couldn't help herself.**

"**Tell me somethin' I don't know."**

**Dempsey drew away, looking deeply into her eyes, his smile melting her from the inside out.**

**She smiled back, her heart beating so fast it hurt. "It does involve my lips… " her eyes flickered over his face, "if that's any help."**

"**Music to my ears." The fingers of his right hand tangled into her hair. "Third time lucky?"**

**Harry raised her eyebrows in acquiescence. The kiss began as a teasing nudge against her mouth but quickly developed into something deeply sensuous as Harry returned Dempsey's tentative exploration with a welcoming passion.**

**When they eventually parted, there was a heady excitement between them. They laughed and Dempsey kissed her nose.**

"**So?" he asked. "You gonna tell me I'm still wrong?"**

**Harry nodded, wrinkling her nose. "I'm afraid so."**

"**You're lying."**

"**You think an awful lot of yourself, Dempsey," she smirked.**

"**I'm outta guesses. What happens now?"**

"**You get a forfeit."**

"**Uh huh." He waited.**

"**I'll tell you what it was I wanted you to do for me, as long as you actually do it."**

"**And this thing involves your lips," he confirmed. "Sounds like I've been into a win, win situation here."**

**She shrugged and leaned back a little, her hands idly stroking his shoulders. "What I want, James," she said quietly yet firmly, "is for you to…" her lips parted seductively but suddenly her nose wrinkled again and she screwed her face up, "make me a nice cup of tea. I'm parched."**

**Dempsey roared with laughter. "A cup of tea! You want me to make you a cup of tea."**

"**Why? What did you think I was going to say?" she asked with perfect innocence.**

"**Okay. Come on." He let her go abruptly and grabbing her by the hand, lead her smartly from the room.**

…

**His kitchen, Harry discovered, was what you would call 'homely'. The focal point was a very large, rectangular scrubbed pine table, laden (obviously) with his clutter; a pile of opened mail awaiting his attention, several newspapers and magazines, a tangled set of earphones, a watch, sunglasses, an assortment of unidentifiable computer peripherals and a lot more extraneous 'junk'.**

"**Never seem to get to the bottom of that," he said, noticing her looking.**

**She just smiled. "If you want to point me in the right direction, I'll make the tea. I assume you never mastered the art of brewing the perfect cuppa?"**

"**Actually," he raised his hand to remonstrate but slowly lowered it again, "no, I never did," he admitted.**

"**Right then," she said briskly and proceeded to take over Dempsey's kitchen.**

**He watched her as he leaned up against a cupboard and he had to smile at the way it made him feel inside. She looked so at home, so comfortable in her surroundings like this was where she should be… or was it simply his imagination playing tricks? Was it an act with her? Was she making an effort to appear this relaxed? He hoped not.**

"… **and you thought it was a type of tea like Darjeeling or Lady Gray or something, d'you remember?"**

**He continued to smile, watching Harry pouring the milk. **

**She turned to him then. "James?"**

**Milk carton in one hand, her other hand on her hip, she asked, "Have you been listening to a word I've said?"**

**He had been listening but only to the sound of her voice, not the actual words themselves. He'd been enjoying those modulated vowels, the ever so slightly lazy timbre that manifested itself when she was happy and the animated tone that lightened his heart.**

"**Of course I have. You were just sayin' 'bout you and Lady Gray havin' tea together in John Lewis," he improvised.**

**Harry gave him a disparaging look. "No, I asked if you remembered that time in John Lewis in the gift food department when we were looking at some fancy little canisters of loose teas and you asked why there wasn't any 'builder's tea',"**

"**I never said that," he dismissed with a wave of his hand.**

"**Oh yes you did. I remember it quite clearly because it was a good five minutes before I managed to stop laughing."**

"**Nah, that wasn't me."**

"**It most definitely was," Harry said with conviction, "although to be fair, I think you'd only been in London a couple of months. Up until that point, I'd never realised that 'Builder's Tea' was a term only the Brits used. It was so funny though." She handed him his mug. "I was using that little anecdote for weeks after."**

"**Yeah, well I don't recall you seein' the funny side when the woman we were tailin' turned Ninja with a baseball bat in Sporting Goods."**

**Harry grinned. "Ah, so you do remember! And that baseball bat was another bloody American import I could've done without!"**

**Dempsey sipped at the scalding hot tea. "Used to keep one at Camberwell Grove as I remember."**

**Harry didn't reply to that, just watched him with a teasing smile over the rim of her mug.**

"**A baseball bat," he clarified, "by the front door."**

**The mug didn't budge but then neither did the smile and the air between them crackled.**

"**D'you wanna go sit outside with this?" he asked. "Kinda hot tonight."**

"**Good idea."**


	44. Chapter 44

**Chapter 44**

**He lead her out through the back door after pushing a few buttons on a discreetly sited control panel on the wall.**

"**This is beautiful!" Harry exclaimed, walking beside him down the illuminated shrubbery-lined pathway. It forked to the right and gave on to a small clearing, encircled by an ancient, high stone wall which was fronted by English Elm trees. The area was softly lit by carriage lamps at various points. **

**There was a very old circular stone pond with a fountain bubbling in the centre and Harry was drawn to it immediately. "Oh, I just love it!" she cried, looking about her in wonder. "It's like a secret garden… "**

**Dempsey nodded his satisfaction.**

**Sitting down on the high outer ledge of the pond, Harry trailed a hand in the dark, cool water, looking in delight at the clusters of giant lily pads adorning the surface.**

"**Anything in there?" she asked over her shoulder.**

**Dempsey had seated himself on the stone Roman-style bench seat beneath the overhanging trees, leaning forwards with his mug between his hands.**

"**Nothin' 'cept frogs," he told her, "hundreds of 'em."**

**Harry withdrew her hand, sharply. "Eeugh!"**

**He laughed. "What, you don't like frogs?"**

"**Bit too jumpy."**

"**Then I ain't got no competition to worry about."**

**She shuddered extravagantly. "Last thing I'll be kissing." She stood up and walked over to him. "You see, you don't know everything about me."**

"**Obviously you weren't ever rushed by an amphibian-wielding assailant otherwise I woulda been totally clear on the subject."**

"**That's quite true," she said with a mock seriousness, "I never was."**

**A look passed between them and they both looked down into their tea, grinning. Harry perched herself down beside him on the pew-like bench seat.**

"**And there's clearly an awful lot to learn about you!" she said cheerfully, marking a new course of conversation with a sweep of her hand to indicate their surroundings.**

**He shrugged. "I only moved into this place six months ago remember? It's pretty much the way the previous owners left it. I re-decorated a couple downstairs rooms, the master bedroom, a room for Jack but apart from that…" Another shrug.**

"**It's absolutely gorgeous," said Harry with sincerity. "I'd live here at the drop of a hat." She hoped that didn't sound to Dempsey how she now realised it could be interpreted. "I should've moved after Philip and I divorced but the kids weren't keen and I didn't want to seem insensitive, uprooting them from the family home, so we just stayed put. I suppose I might as well wait until Ed leaves home now and then I can get myself a flat or something."**

"**So how come you and he didn't take on Winfield Hall? It's let out to relatives, right?"**

"**Mmm. My second cousins – I don't really know them," she supplied. "Phil wasn't keen on the idea; he had his business in London so it really wasn't practical to be living in Kent. I could never have sold it though," she spoke fondly, "it would've been like wiping away who I am and I suppose to me, a part of Freddy will always be there." Harry glanced at him anxiously. "Silly, I know."**

"**No, not at all. Woulda surprised me if you had of sold the place, plus it woulda been a lot harder for me to find you."**

"**I'm quite certain you'd have found me sooner or later."**

"**Yep." He drank his tea. "No doubt about it."**

**Harry crossed her legs and turned to meet his eyes guilelessly. "So. Do I take it you're minted these days, Dempsey?"**

**He looked away for a moment to hide his mirth. "And what kinda question is that for a lady to ask?"**

"**Well… this house, the business on Jersey, the bar with the empty flat just languishing over it. You've obviously done very well for yourself."**

"**I've made some money, yeah." He rubbed at the back of his neck, "for all the good it's done me."**

"**What do you mean?" Harry asked, slightly baffled.**

"**What've I got, Harry? I mean, what've I got besides a fancy place to rest my weary bones and a happy bank manager?"**

"**Oh, we are feeling sorry for ourselves, aren't we?" she teased. "You've got the bachelor lifestyle a lot of men would kill for."**

"**Been there, done that and the T-shirt faded in the wash." Dempsey gazed over at the pond. "And besides, a T-shirt don't keep you warm at night."**

**Harry leaned in and nudged him with her shoulder. "I'll buy you a pipe and slippers, Dempsey and I'll play my violin as you toast yourself in front of the fire. How does that sound?"**

"**If I'm honest, princess," he said straight-faced, it sounds a little kinky."**

"**Idiot!" she laughed, kicking her sandals off and enjoying the feet of the cool grass on the soles of her feet. "You know, I'm sure it's getting warmer."**

"**Probably break tonight," Dempsey speculated.**

"**I should think about making a move; if you're gonna drive me home, you don't want to get caught in a storm coming back."**

"**Sorry," he said and knocked back the rest of his tea, " you wanna go."**

"**I'm not in any rush… I just thought… well, I don't have to go just yet." The idea of leaving didn't appeal to Harry, in fact, it brought a tug of panic to her stomach that surprised her. She enjoyed being with him, just being in his company and certainly didn't want to go home to an empty house. The suggestion that he should maybe drive her home had been to test the waters she admitted to herself. She had wanted him to protest, had wanted to hear him persuade her to stay but it had sort of backfired, hadn't it.**

"**Let me know when you want to get rid of me though," she told him.**

"**Okay," he said simply.**

**They fell silent and Harry wondered if it really was time for her to leave. Had she hit a raw nerve with her glib comments?**

"**Have I put my foot in it?" she asked quietly, looking across at the pond with Dempsey. "I'm sorry. It's only been six months – you still miss Juliette, don't you?"**

"**Nah." He leaned down and broke off a few blades of grass, instantly letting them fall from his fingers. "I started missing Juliette when we were still together, that's how I knew it was time to get out. Whatever there'd been between us once, it died a long time ago."**

"**And you just hang on in there because it's so much easier than the alternative," Harry mused with a tired air to her voice.**

"**Ain't that the truth."**

**They both looked at each other and the matching grimaces exploded into ironic laughter.**

"**We sure know how to have a good time, huh?" Dempsey joked and stretched his arm out as Harry lifted her legs clear of the ground and slid up against him. It was a spontaneous and unpremeditated move on both their parts and it took them both by surprise. They sat quietly for a few minutes.**

**Torpid body heat pulsed between them, increasing the humid night-time temperature but rather than being unpleasant, sticky heat, they both found it to be quite comforting, the way they seemed to meld together. Harry nestled securely into his chest and delighted in the feel of his chin resting on the crown of her head and his arm fastened loosely across her waist. This was what she wanted – what she had always wanted for as long as she could remember only she had put an end to it ever being a reality for them. She had made a mistake – a fatal error that she had left too long to put right, at least, not without James hating her for it.**

"**Just friends for now, Dempsey," she felt the need to say. It seemed like the right moment to make the point, to tell him that they couldn't take it any further. She hoped that if she set out boundaries, spoke them aloud, she would find them easier to adhere to herself.**

**There was a lull whilst Dempsey seemed to be giving it his consideration.**

"**It felt like we'd progressed beyond 'just friends' earlier," he pointed out, quietly.**

"**Yeah… maybe that was… an error of judgement."**

**She felt his body tense and vigorously rubbed the back of his hand where it lay upon her waist, attempting to cajole some exuberance back into him. "There's no rush, after all." The feel of the silky, dark hairs on his hand made her look down as she remembered how they had sat like this so many times before in the past.**

**When he didn't respond, she prompted, "Is there?"**

"**No. No, I guess I can live with 'just friends for now'." He gave her a squeeze about the middle. "No objections to close friends, hopefully?"**

"**None whatsoever," she answered, brightly.**

"**Hmm." He thought about that. "Close friends who kiss?"**

"**Dempsey!" Harry growled.**

**He held both his hands up as far as their position would allow. "Just askin'" he protested his innocence. "But if we're gonna be friends, we get to do all the stuff that friends do, right? Like the movies and eating out, hangin' out together, sleepovers…"**

"**Don't push it," said Harry, digging him in the ribs.**

**Conversation drifted easily to the virtues of the memory foam mattress Dempsey had purchased when he first moved in and on to the bed socks Jay had bought Harry for a joke last Christmas. Christmas lead on to holidays and the places they'd travelled to over the years and Harry discovered that like her, Dempsey had acquired a penchant for skiing. She was surprised yet found herself rather pleased. An image of him flying down the slopes of Val d'Isere slipped dreamily across her mind…**

"**We could sure use a few flakes of the white stuff right now," smiled Dempsey. "Hot as hell tonight."**

**Harry didn't answer. He waited, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing against his torso. "Did you fall asleep on me, Makepeace?" he asked softly. Kissing the top of her head, he chuckled.**

…**..**

**The first few fat spots of rain came down from the heavens at ten minutes to two. It took a full minute for it to penetrate Dempsey's pleasant dreams and by the time it did, those few spots had multiplied and gathered momentum. As his eyes snapped open, Harry began to stir from within the shelter of his arms.**

"**Harry, we gotta get indoors, sweetheart, we're getting' wet out here."**

"**Wet?" It didn't compute but as he pushed her upright, she began to feel the cold drops splashing onto her bare arms and legs. "Uhh… it's raining!"**

**By the time they reached the house, the rain was coming down in torrents and they were both wet through.**

"**God, where did that come from?" Harry asked, laughing in astonishment.**

**They both stood in a scarecrow stance, letting the rivulets of rainwater flow to the kitchen floor.**

"**How 'bout that," Dempsey grinned, "I was right! I'll get us some towels."**

**Even before he'd made it back downstairs with the sunflower yellow bath towels, the first bolt of lightening had emblazoned the night sky. They looked at each other as Dempsey stood in the doorway, both anticipating the thunder that must surely follow. After thirty seconds had elapsed and still nothing, Dempsey broke eye contact and entered the kitchen to hand over a towel.**

"**Thanks."**

**The word had barely escaped Harry's lips before a breathtakingly loud blast of thunder smacked the air. They both ducked.**

"**Good Lord!" Harry exclaimed.**

"**Whoa!" laughed Dempsey in the same instant.**

**They were hanging onto each others arms, paralysed momentarily by the ear-splitting sound. But then laughter rang out in the ensuing silence.**

"**That's got to be **_**very **_**close," Harry observed.**

**Dempsey picked up the towel he'd dropped and began drying himself. "Almost overhead, I'd guess."**

**Harry towelled her wet hair slowly. "Look, James. I'm really sorry about this. I'm going to ring for a taxi; it's two o'clock in the morning and I can't expect you to be driving me home in this."**

"**So stay."**

**He hadn't even thought that through which was a good thing because if he had, he probably wouldn't have said it.**

**Her expression smacked of mortification.**

"**Got plenty of room," he pointed out, just in case she had read more into the offer than he had intended. Her expression softened. "Or if you'd prefer a little couch-crashing, I can bring a sheet and a pillow down here."**

"**Really, I can get a taxi, it's not a problem."**

**But he had noted the hesitation. "I may even run to breakfast in the morning."**

**She smirked. "Ah, breakfast. Lucky we ate out this evening. I remember your idea of breakfast was often the previous night's leftovers. Watching you consume cold kung-po chicken and egg-fried rice at eight a.m. never used to sit too well on my stomach for some reason."**

"**So you gonna stay?" Dempsey grinned.**

"**Do you have a spare toothbrush?"**


	45. Chapter 45

**Chapter 45**

**Dempsey knocked lightly on the bathroom door.**

"**Harry, I thought you…"**

**The door, to his surprise, sprung open as though she had been standing on the other side. She was brushing her teeth.**

"**Hi," he grinned. "I thought you could maybe use this - to sleep in." He held up what appeared to be a t-shirt in a polythene wrapper. "I'm always gettin' promotional stuff at the bar." He passed it over the threshold to her. "It's XXL… to cover your modesty."**

**Harry took it off him, frowning at the graphic image of a giant cartoon worm sporting a sombrero.**

"**Tequila!" he supplied in a comedy Mexican accent.**

"**Mmm," she acknowledged through a mouthful of foamy toothpaste and articulated a 'thank you'.**

"**See you in the mornin', Princess." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Sleep tight."**

**A loud crack of thunder hammered through these last two words and they laughed. "Maybe not."**

**Dempsey padded back to his bedroom and stripped off his wet clothing before depositing them in the laundry basket in the en suite bathroom. Who'd have thought Harry would have been sleeping under his roof again, albeit a perfectly platonic arrangement.**

**He changed into a fresh pair of pyjama shorts, dropped tiredly onto his bed and reached across to switch off the bedside lamp. Within seconds, he switched it back on. How was he supposed to sleep? Not only was there the noise of the battling elements to contend with – the roiling thunder and the torrential rain slashing against the window but the heat was still oppressive. And Harry. Harry was here – in his home, in his head, in his heart.**

**Putting on a pair of reading glasses, Dempsey picked up his copy of The Da Vinci Code from the bedside cabinet and began to read. Chapter five and he still couldn't see what all the fuss had been about.**

**Harry wouldn't be asleep nor even attempting to be. He could picture her with her face pressed to the window, watching the lightening flashing across the black sky. She had always enjoyed a good storm. He remembered quite vividly a surveillance operation they had been on together about a year into their working relationship. They had sited themselves on the upper floor of a disused warehouse on an industrial estate just outside Hackney, waiting for an arms shipment transfer that in the end never took place. **

**Quite early on in the evening, the storm hit hard and fast with driving rain sweeping across the desolate no man's land below them. It hadn't taken him long to recognise Harry's preoccupation with the weather conditions and he had observed her covertly for a little while, marking the small changes in her demeanour.**

**She seemed suddenly restless, pacing the floor like a caged animal and casting long looks at the window where they had set up the telescope. When she stood still, it was to lean up against the window casement, just staring out. He had noted her shallow breathing and wide eyes and when the thunder rolled, the way her nostrils flared and her lips parted just a fraction. It excited her, he realised - this wild display of the elemental forces of nature heightened and enflamed her senses and that knowledge in turn excited Dempsey. But he had remained silent, afraid that by baiting her about it, he would break the spell. After a while, her restlessness transfigured into animated chatter, focused on the case they were working but never-the-less on an elevated level that emphasized her exhilaration. At the time, it had fleetingly passed through Dempsey's mind to wonder what her reaction would have been had he made a move on her at that point. A couple of years later, he was to find out that it really would have been taking an unfair advantage.**

**Dempsey removed his glasses with a sigh and leaned his head back on the headboard a moment, letting the sound of the rain wash over him. He checked his watch on the bedside cabinet – two thirty seven.**

**She still cared about him didn't she? She still had feelings for him, even though he wasn't sure what those feelings were or why she was so reluctant to explore them. Still, she'd kissed him – 'she' had kissed 'him'. He'd been determined not to push her and it seemed to have paid off. If she wanted to keep it platonic for now, he could understand her reasoning behind that – just about. But she had definitely been fighting it tonight, no doubt about that. Dempsey squeezed his lips together as he felt a grin forming. There was still something between them – always had been, always would be. The grin spread beyond his control.**

**A sudden rap at the door focused his attention sharply.**

"**Dempsey, may I come in?" Harry called out above the clamour of the storm.**

**Abruptly, he sat up, lifting the book off his stomach. "Yeah, sure."**

**She entered warily, taking in as much of the room as she could before turning to push the door to. She looked at him then and seemed to suddenly realise that he was naked save for the shorts. She was evidently a little embarrassed. "I'm not here to… well… I don't want you thinking that … you know."**

"**Yeah, I know," he covered for her.**

**She was wearing the Tequila t-shirt that fell almost to her knees like a nightshirt.**

"**Cute," Dempsey grinned.**

**Harry glanced down at herself. "Isn't it just." She ran a hand through her hair. "I, err… I can't get to sleep and the only reading material I found was a copy of NME."**

"**That'll be Jacks'. Typical teenager; left his stuff all over the house when he was here."**

**She gave him a crooked smile. "And maybe, like father, like son."**

**Dempsey laughed. "Kid doesn't have a hope."**

**There was a fresh crack of thunder and he watched Harry stand up straighter, licking her lips.**

"**You're welcome to look through the bookshelves downstairs."**

**Her eyes were roving distractedly about the bedroom. "Doesn't matter," she murmured as she made for the floor to ceiling draperies at the far end of the bedroom. She drew the left hand curtain to one side a few inches and peered out into the darkness. "Is this a balcony?" she queried as her eyes dropped to find the door handle. She turned with a smile. "You've got a balcony! I'm jealous."**

**A jagged streak of pure white lightening tore the night in two and Harry gasped audibly, bringing both her hands up to the glass.**

**The t-shirt had ridden up to the tops of her thighs to reveal her tanned and still very shapely legs. '**_**You still got it, girl!'**_

**A second later the thunder came like the crashing of celestial hammers upon the Earth and he watched as her hands clenched into fists. Harry turned around then, radiant and beatific, to face him with an expression of triumph, high on the forces of nature that she seemed to have drawn inside herself.**

"**It must be years since we've had a storm like this!" she exclaimed. "In fact, it would've been about ten years ago. I went and stood outside in the garden and got drenched. Philip got really angry, telling me how stupid I was being – didn't I know how reckless it was to be standing out in the open in an electrical thunderstorm? Course, I refused to budge…"**

"**Now there's a surprise," Dempsey cut in.**

**She grinned. "… and he told me I was setting a bad example to the children but," she wagged a finger, "they were never afraid of storms, even from being babies."**

"**Maybe not the smartest move to actually stand outside." '**_**Much better tucked up in bed,' **_**he remembered.**

**Harry grinned. "But an adrenaline rush all the same."**

**She had moved to the tall chest of drawers, her fingers playing over the three brown candles that sat on a glass base. She picked one up and sniffed it. "Sandalwood," she commented and wandered on, the candle still in her hand. Dempsey continued to watch her – she was hyped up, exhilarated, and it fascinated him. **

**She stopped before a shelf over the blanket box stationed against the wall.**

"**What's this?" She put the candle down and picked up the patterned metal sphere. It reminded her of the mirror downstairs; the same sort of intricately patterned design that told of ancient and knurled tree trunks, medieval weaponry and mystical ciphers. It was quite large, about the size of a human skull and Harry held it with a kind of reverence. "What is it?" she repeated, glancing at Dempsey.**

**He shrugged non-commitally. "Got it in one of those junk shops that masquerades as an antiques emporium. I was told it was seventeenth century Persian but my money's on7 twentieth century Woolworth."**

"**Well, I like it," Harry enthused, her eyes shining as her fingers ran over the whorls and crevices. She frowned, noticing what might be a tiny defect, a fault line running around the diameter. She traced it carefully with her forefinger.**

"**Does it open, then?" She was moving her hands against the sides in opposite directions, trying to prise it apart. "Dempsey?" she asked when he didn't answer.**

**Dempsey fidgeted uncomfortably, pulling at his right ear. **

**Walking slowly over to the bed with a look of deep concentration on her face as she puzzled over the sphere, Harry dropped down next to him on the edge of the bed.**

"**Show me." She held it out to him.**

**The bedside lamp flickered dramatically and thunder scalded their ears.**

"**I don't know how it works," he told her.**

**Harry laughed. "You're joking! You've never managed to get it open?"**

**She pulled her legs up onto the bed and bounced into a semi-prone position beside him, her shoulders against the headboard. "I wouldn't have thought you'd have been able to rest until you'd worked it out." She was plying her fingers against the metal with even more enthusiasm now. "There could be something really exciting inside like the Darya-I-Nur Diamond," she shook the ball gently and listened but nothing rattled, " or a mummified heart or something."**

**Dempsey laughed. "You're crazy."**

"**You've got to be curious though. I wouldn't give up until I'd opened it."**

"**Maybe some things are better left a mystery."**

"**But definitely not this!"**

**Her hands worked the ball above her stomach, her knees raised a little and her feet flat against the thin summer quilt.**

"**Tell me somethin', Harry." Now seemed the perfect opportunity to catch her off guard.**

"**What's that?" she asked happily, not taking her eyes off her task.**

"**Did you ever – just for one tiny moment, wish you'd used that plane ticket?" He held his breath.**

**Her fingers kept moving and he didn't think she was going to answer. Finally, she said rather shakily, "Would it surprise you to know I got as far as to pack my suitcase?"**

**Dempsey nodded, looking away as he stroked his chin uneasily and when a wave of bitterness suddenly hit him squarely in the chest, he leapt from the bed to stare across at her angrily. "So why the hell didn't you come, huh? Why didn't you come and dig me out of the shit I'd buried myself in? Why didn't you rescue me, Harry?" he cried.**

**Harry sat up straight, shocked and considerably alarmed by his outburst. "I… I didn't know about the state you were in… I thought I was doing the right thing."**

"**Right for who? For you? For me? 'cause it sure didn't feel right." He snatched the metal sphere from her hands impatiently and returned it to the shelf.**

"**For us… because I loved you!" Her voice cracked with emotion. "I couldn't follow you half way around the world to keep hurting you, you must've seen that."**

**Dempsey scraped his hands through his hair. "Oh, Harry." It came out deep and foreboding. "It hurt so much more without you. All I wanted was for us to be together." He laughed tensely. "Really, that was all I ever wanted… you and me."**

**Harry drew her knees up to her chin, the t-shirt pulled down over them. "No." She couldn't even look at him. "No. It was never that simple, was it? We fought… all the time. We were too different… from different worlds. It couldn't last forever, James."**

**She was hurrying through her lines; too well rehearsed, too desperate and he saw through her instantly.**

"**You don't believe that any more than I do," he accused. "The truth is we were both scared. We spent the whole relationship worrying about what the outside world would think."**

"**Okay," she said, trying to sound calm and in control, "I'm not denying that – it was a big problem and it completely blighted the relationship."**

"**So why didn't you use the ticket?" he shot back, wildly frustrated.**

"**Run away do you mean? Running away to New York would've solved everything, would it?"**

**Dempsey sat down on the side of the bed, his back to Harry. "It would have been a fresh start for us," he said with a vague numbness.**

"**Dempsey, please! I couldn't – I just couldn't. It was risking too much."**

"**And I wasn't worth taking that risk. Okay, I get it."**

**On an impulse, Harry raised herself up and wrapped her arms about his shoulders from behind.**

"**It wasn't like that," her voice rasped against his ear. "I promise you it wasn't like that. But the way we were together; the way we used to fight and…"**

"**Come on – we thrived on it, it was a game we played." He remained rigid in her tentative embrace, aware of the irony in the fact that now she was finally talking, he no longer wanted to hear what she had to say.**

"**Our relationship was volatile, James – thorny even, on occasion. Was that sort of atmosphere really conducive to…" She stopped. "Maybe it wasn't healthy, I don't know but I couldn't be sure we could exist as we were outside SI-10."**

**Holding on to him like this was dangerous, Harry realised. She didn't have to meet his eyes – just smell the familiar scent of his skin, feel his bare flesh under her hands and hear the pain in his voice. It would be so easy to keep talking before she had figured out a way to answer his questions without breaking his heart.**

"**Two weeks in New York woulda given us the opportunity to find out."**

"**A honeymoon period," Harry dismissed gently.**

**She felt him laugh silently. **

"**Yeah, maybe but I guess we'll never know."**

"**I'm sorry," she said after a moment.**

**The room seemed to shudder as lightning flashed through the gap Harry had left in the curtains. He bowed under the weight of her body leaning against him, his strength ebbing from his bones.**

"**You've got no idea how sorry I am." She hugged herself against him a little harder, holding her cheek against the back of his neck.**

**The thunder reverberated high overhead. When a tear fell, hot and wet, to run with a gathering coolness down his back, Dempsey shivered. He turned to pull her arms away, gently collecting her up and just holding her, half on his lap, half across the bed.**

**Fiercely, they clung together, rocking imperceptibly.**

"**They were crazy times, babe." The facetious note that Dempsey injected into his voice was a necessary agent to them both, a foil to the tide of overwhelming emotion that threatened to engulf them.**

**Harry refused to give in to the tears. Whilst she allowed them to flow, she controlled her deep, wracking breaths until the rocking motion assuaged the sorrow.**

"**James?" she whispered. Her head was pounding with a dark hollowness that made her feel quite nauseous. In reply, his hand stroked along her thigh and yet for all the intimacy of their semi-clothed bodies, there was nothing sexual in their closeness. What was happening between them was a re-establishment of the bond of friendship they had once shared; the unrelenting loyalty and steadfast comradeship. **

**Something was beginning to heal.**

"**James," Harry continued, "when you left… " she could barely breath, "when you left… I was…"**

"**Harry," he interrupted, "I know. It's okay. You had a lot to leave behind. You're part of the fabric of English society, huh?"**

**She heard the smile in his voice.**

"**I know how hard it would of been for you to leave everything behind; your dad... Winfield Hall. You had a family duty and I understand that now."**

**The moment had gone.**

"**It just all got too much in the end, didn't it?" Her head rested on his shoulder as she reflected sadly. "It affected the way we worked. The McKintyre court case proved that. But even before that, you cared too much to be objective and I was starting to feel like I wasn't providing the back-up that maybe I should because I was so set on keeping the appearance of a professional distance between us." She slid a hand up his back, laying a small kiss at his collarbone as she did so. "I just remember thinking that everything was crumbling around me… it was the most horrendous feeling I think I've ever experienced."**

"**Snap," said Dempsey. "When you didn't show up in New York, I figured I'd been right all along and you'd realised you'd had a lucky escape. Thought the world was gonna come to an end." He held the back of her head tenderly. "Never loved anyone like that before," he murmured.**

"**I know," Harry agreed blithely, "it was frightening, wasn't it?"**

**Dempsey chucked. "Oh yeah."**

**They remained together quietly for several more minutes until Dempsey mentioned the fact that the storm seemed to finally have passed.**

"**I was wondering what that quiet sound was," Harry grinned sleepily, breaking apart from him to look up into his face.**

"**Think you'll be able to get some sleep now?"**

"**That's a definite maybe."**

"**Okay, so while you're tryin' to decide," he carefully extricated himself from her, "how 'bout you lay down there and shut your eyes."**

"**Here?" asked Harry, surprised.**

"**Uh huh, right here. We're on that sleepover I was talkin' about earlier."**

**After Dempsey had leaned across to switch off the beside lamp, they slept for the rest of the night, side by side, the fingers of Dempsey's right hand entwined with the fingers of Harry's left.**


	46. Chapter 46

So now we're back to the 'Then' for a bit until I've decided what fun Harry and Sam are going to have together at the Valencia Party ;-)

_Chapter 46_

_Whittingham MacDonald was an imposing figure. At 6'5", unlike a lot of very tall men, he carried himself at his full height and kept his shoulders back. Lean and muscular, his sandy blond hair was always clean and neatly trimmed. He made the most of his assets which unfortunately didn't include good looks. The man had been beaten quite severely with the ugly stick. That said, he still managed to draw the ladies with what his friends saw as impossible ease. Maybe it was good bone structure that made up for the eyes set too far apart, the big Roman nose and the slightly Neanderthal forehead – that and the pleasantly melodic speaking voice. There are few people who genuinely have no regional accent but he could quite legitimately lay claim to this anomaly. Born in Port Isaac, Cornwall, his family moved him to Thurles in Ireland when he was five years old. At eight, his mother died and after that, he and his father seemed to be constantly flitting from one town to another, up and down the British Isles. Why, he was never quite sure. They parted ways during a stay in London one summer when he was twenty-two and fell in love with a pretty little Spanish girl named Haydée who rented a one bedroom flat in Paddington. Haydée didn't last but London did, in its various boroughs._

_Laying down his pool cue, Whittingham MacDonald shook his opponent's hand, accepted his winnings and strolled away to the bar. He ordered his pint and turned his back to stand with his elbow on the bar and a foot on the metal rest below, surveying the room._

_It was quiet tonight but that was generally how he preferred it. The pint was now reduced to a third. He lit a cigarette and watched the pub door swing open through a haze of smoke. On her own, he realised which in itself wasn't surprising, given the events of the previous night._

_She spotted him and began wending her way between the tables._

"_Hello, Mac," she said with the briefest of smiles. "Get you another?" She nodded towards his empty glass._

"_He drew on his cigarette. "Be my guest," he replied as he exhaled a lungful of smoke. "You alright then?"_

"_Oh, you know."_

_She ordered herself a gin and tonic and a pint for him. She was observing the room in the mirror that ran the length of the bar, he noticed. So Dempsey had gone AWOL then. He pulled his fresh pint towards him and waited. The ice tinkled in the glass as she took a small sip but the fortifying effect induced her to take another, longer draught almost immediately._

"_Seen Dempsey tonight?" she asked casually._

_Mac shook his head. "Not tonight. He was in last night though."_

"_Mmm," she smiled, nonchalantly. "And on a scale of one to ten, how pissed was he?"_

"_He was definitely into double figures."_

"_Right," she said into her glass._

"_I rang him a taxi – Doug and Stork got him into it just after closing."_

"_That bad, aye?"_

"_Worse."_

"_Bad day yesterday. We were in court."_

"_So he said."_

_Her eyelids looked puffy. Had she been crying? He couldn't imagine Harry Makepeace in tears somehow – much too cool to cry._

"_He certainly wasn't happy with the verdict, was he?"_

"_No," she answered, tilting her glass to watch the slice of lemon slip to one side, "none of us were."_

"_Thought you lot would all be commiserating together down The Bramcote," he tested._

"_You know Dempsey, not exactly a team player, under any circumstances."_

_Mac tilted his head in agreement and drank his beer. No doubt about it, she'd been crying. So what exactly had gone off on Thursday that could promote such a reaction in The Ice Queen? But that was unfair, wasn't it. She was top-drawer – classy, but from what he'd seen of her over the months, she didn't warrant that title. Dempsey was just narked that he couldn't get anywhere with her. Mac suspected that the nick-name (never said to her face) was more a reference to frigidity than aloofness. He fancied the pants off her and couldn't figure out why the elastic wouldn't snap for him._

"_Read about it in the papers. Dempsey seemed to have really taken it to heart last night – wouldn't talk about it." He stubbed out his cigarette. "The papers said McKintyre couldn't be convicted without stronger witness evidence 'which Lieutenant James Dempsey, formerly of the New York Police Department, failed to provide,' " he quoted._

"_I know what the papers said," she replied coolly._

"_And I shouldn't believe everything I read?"_

_She shrugged. "Everything is open to interpretation, Mac."_

_She drained the rest of her gin and tonic and picked up her bag from the bar. _

_Mac watched her curiously. "I'll let you know if I hear anything, love."_

_Harry patted his strong, sinewy forearm absently. "See you, Mac."_

…

_Outside in the crisp, grey evening, Harry took a few steadying breaths. Where the hell was he? Where had he gone in the taxi last night because it certainly wasn't home – she'd been there waiting for him on the sofa until six a.m. when she'd awoken from a grizzled sleep to go home and feed Dufus before getting ready for work._

_She was glad Mac didn't know about her and Dempsey; it would have made it so much more difficult to keep a passive front. Although she liked Mac a lot, his sporadic dealings with the criminal fraternity meant their secret wasn't necessarily safe with him. The man was a bit of a loner anyway so it hadn't been hard to keep him out of the loop. If she could find Dougie or Stork, she might be able to track Dempsey down but neither one of them was answering their phone. Friday night –they'd be out on the town somewhere. She knew of several places they might be – it was just a matter of time._

…_.._

"_Oh, bloody hell, I'm rubbish at science and nature," complained Dougie._

"_There's four of us," the woman at his side pointed out, "I'm sure one of us'll know the answer."_

"_Course we will," Stork chuckled from behind. "The human brain is like an engine, innit? In order for it to work at it's optimum capacity, you 'ave to keep it well lubricated." He slapped Dougie's shoulder. "And seenin' as this is my fourth pint, I'm firing on all cylinders."_

_They all laughed and leant in closer to read the next question on the pub quiz machine._

"_Where in the human body would you find your Macula?" Dougie read out. "Is it A, the knee, B, the heart, C, the eye or D, the brain?"_

_All four of them managed to shout out a different answer._

"_We're all agreed then," Stork joked._

"_It's the eye, guaranteed," yelled Christine, frantically._

_Dougie slammed his hand down on the 'C' button and the machine gave out a rewarding 'ping'._

_Christine beamed. "I see it every day on a chart in Mr Peck's office."_

"_She's a receptionist at an opticians," Stork told the others with a grin._

"_Nice one," Dougie laughed. "So what're we going for next? Sport?"_

"_Let's try History," encouraged Fran, hoping to be able to supply an answer herself soon – Stork's girlfriend had had her moment in the sun._

"_Okay then. Everybody ready? Right. A typical sixteenth century suit of armour consisted of a minimum of how many separate pieces? A,12, B,16, C,37 or D,43 ?"_

"_That's bloody stupid," said Stork, "how would anybody know that?"_

_A hand stole under Dougie's arm and a well-manicured fingernail depressed button 'B'. "Each piece was laced or strapped together and hung off the Gorget; a metal collar that protected the neck and shoulders," Harry informed them._

_Dougie turned and threw an arm about her shoulders. "Who else but Harry Makepeace would know the answer to that?" he laughed as he kissed her cheek. "You're brilliant!"_

"_Why thank you, Dougie."_

_On the other side of him, Fran fastened a possessive arm around his waist. "Aren't you goin' to introduce us then?" She gave Harry a simpering smile._

"_Fran, this is Harry. She's a very good friend of Jim Dempsey who you met last night."_

_Fran rolled her eyes. "Oh, him!"_

_Stork had moved Christine forward to stand in front of the machine beside Fran. "'scuse us for a minute, girls – just need a quick word with Harry."_

_The two women looked Harry up and down disdainfully before bowing their heads together in solidarity. Stork and Dougie followed Harry over to the cigarette machine._

"_Do you know where he is?" she asked without preamble. "I was speaking to Mac earlier and he told me you put him in a taxi last night."_

"_Yeah," Dougie scratched his forehead. "I told the cabbie to get him home. Jim kept insisting he wanted to go to a club but I paid up front and said he didn't need to make any unnecessary stop-offs."_

"_He never made it home."_

"_And you haven't heard from him?" Dougie asked, somewhat superfluously._

_Harry looked down at her feet. "Bit worried, actually."_

_Dougie squeezed her shoulder. "He'll be fine. He'll have gone to a mate's place or something."_

"_That was almost twenty-four hours ago, Doug – where is he now?"_

"_Have you been out looking for him all night?" Stork wanted to know._

_She nodded._

"_So why don't you try phoning? He's probably been back for hours."_

_Harry smiled wanly. "Yeah – you're right." She checked her watch. "I may as well go back to his flat, I suppose."_

"_This court case really got to him, didn't it?" asked Dougie, tentatively. "I haven't seen him like that before – quiet… surly. He's always the life and soul when he's drunk; last night, he was getting nasty."_

"_That's why I need to find him. The whole thing's been really difficult for him and I just want to make sure he's alright."_

_Alarmingly, she began to feel tears pricking at the back of her eyes again. She attempted to keep her mind on track. "Err… the taxi… which taxi firm was it, can you remember?"_

"_Same one we always use – Ten-Four Taxis."_

"_Okay, course." She and Dempsey had used the firm many times. "I'll give them a call, see if the driver remembers anything."_

_Stork smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, darlin'. He'll turn up like the bad penny he is. You know it."_

"_Yeah, I know, you're probably right. Thanks guys. I'll call you in the morning, okay?" _

_They all knew she was faking that jovial air and like Whittingham MacDonald, they had noted the slightly swollen and bloodshot eyes. There was definitely more to it than Dempsey on a bender; something had happened, something monumental that had shaken them both up._

_They watched her leave, both sipping from their pints._

"_Never seen 'her rattled before," Stork murmured._

_Dougie was starting to feel a little bit uneasy. "Think Dempsey's alright? She was worried, wasn't she?"_


	47. Chapter 47

This one's for Lou - hahahah

_Chapter 47_

_Ridiculously, she felt the tears welling up again the moment she pulled up outside his building. Dempsey's car hadn't moved since he'd returned it sometime yesterday. It had been there when she'd arrived some time after eight o'clock last night, having calmed down sufficiently to be capable of having a civilized conversation with him. So was she going to spend a second pointless night on his couch? No, if he didn't show up again tonight, she wanted to be in his bed._

_She stood in the lift – the elevator as Dempsey still referred to it – and contemplated for the hundredth time his logic behind taking the stand yesterday. If he'd told Spikings what was going on, he could surely have got a witness anonymity order. It was under Section 4 Subsection 6 - she'd looked it up; he'd had valid grounds, he could have avoided giving evidence in open court. Why had he taken the stand, for God's sake? What he'd done… it had gone against every principle they fought so hard for. Had he thought she'd see him as some sort of a hero, defending her honour, playing the big man? But no, she suspected he hadn't been thinking at all – that was the trouble, he'd simply been lead by emotion and that could play no part in the so called fight against crime._

_No more. They couldn't go on like this any more. It had reached breaking point. Maybe Harry had never really known what she had expected or even wanted out of the relationship but it certainly wasn't this. It wasn't this hurt and confusion, this undermining neediness that no man had ever made her feel before. She felt dominated; not by him but by her emotions. She was no longer in control and that was frightening. Did James feel that way too? Was that how he'd let Terry McKintyre coerce him – because he felt out of control and panicked? Would she have done the same had the shoe been on the other foot? No, she wouldn't. She didn't have that same protective instinct that a male had for a female. She understood that now. Before the start of their personal relationship, before he learned to care too much, he'd been able to keep that instinct to a level, but after… This was precisely why the force had banned such relationships. It was all so obvious, after it had all gone so dreadfully wrong._

_Her footfalls sounded loud and harsh on the tiled floor of the corridor. _

'God, let him be here'

_She wanted to know that he was safe but the thought of the confrontation she would face made her feel sick. She fished a set of keys out of her bag as she approached the door of Dempsey's flat, quickly wiping a finger under each eye. Unlocking the door, she slowly pushed it open and felt her heart clench. She hadn't left the light on when she'd left early this morning, had she? She turned in to the living room area, her eyes searching out any possible variation in the state of the room since the last time she'd been here. Everything appeared to be the same and she walked through to the kitchen, turning the light on only briefly whilst she scanned the worktops and sink area. Nothing. He hadn't been back. Unless he'd gone straight to bed._

_Re-tracing her steps, she returned to the wide hallway. Both the bedroom and bathroom doors stood open and she'd definitely closed them this morning, she was certain._

_What would she do if he were sleeping? Would she stay – on the sofa and talk in the morning? Would she get into bed and sleep beside him? Or would she just leave, knowing that at least he was safe?_

_Carefully, she angled herself around the bedroom door; she knew from experience there was just enough room for her to squeeze past without causing the door to creak. Even before she looked towards the bed though, she knew he wasn't there – she couldn't feel his presence. Still, she entered a few steps and looked about. Her eye was drawn to the nightstand (another Americanism Dempsey insisted on using). The familiar configuration of wallet and car keys was just visible in the semi-darkness, the light from the hallway casting a grey residue across the room. She stood, frozen momentarily, staring fixedly. The wallet hadn't been there when she left this morning. She didn't understand though – the bed hadn't been slept in and the flat appeared empty but surely he wouldn't have gone out again on foot and without money on him. Suddenly Harry felt a prickly cold pass over her. She couldn't see any clear reason for his actions and that worried her._

_The basement! He would be down in the basement doing his laundry, of course. __That was a perfectly reasonable explanation, at least, the only one she wanted to consider. _

'Doing his washing… change in his pockets… reading a book. He likes to read, doesn't be, whilst he's waiting. He's told me that. It's the only chance he gets to read.'

_Harry turned and yanked the door wide, the creak just a minor squeak in her haste to get to the bathroom._

'The laundry basket'll be empty. No, there'll be an odd sock… there'll be a single black sock in the bottom that he's missed. He does that all the time. Oh God, what if he's done something stupid? What if he's gone after McKintyre?'

_Thrusting through the bathroom door, turning her body to get to the plastic laundry basket to the right, her eyes fell upon the bath. She stopped dead, drawing back in alarm._

"_James! Oh my God, James!"_


	48. Chapter 48

Chapter 48

Harry balanced her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she let herself in through her front door.

"It's really not a problem, Sam, honestly. I'm quite capable of getting there under my own steam," she told him patiently. "Just tell me what time I should be there."

She listened as he gave her the time he would meet her at The Kingly Club, the venue in The West End that was being used for The Valencia Party. It was the launch night for a pair of new young designers and Sam was keen to meet them. He told her for the second time during this phone conversation how much he was looking forward to seeing her later that night and this time, Harry didn't feel able to skirt the expected response.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you too; seems like ages since I last saw you."

Harry walked into the kitchen and dumped her handbag on the table, glancing over to where Ed and his girlfriend, Lydia were stood by the sink drinking coffee. She gave them a little wave.

"I'll see you at seven-thirty then. Bye Sam." She ended the call and looked up to see the two youngsters staring at her.

"What?" she asked, puzzled by their amused expressions.

In reply, Ed pretended to stick a finger down his throat, making an unpleasant gagging sound. Lydia giggled.

"Have I missed something here?"

"You get back home at half past nine in the morning, Mother, after a night of hot, rampant sex and you're on the phone to him again before you're even through the front door!"

Lydia slapped his arm. "Ed!" she reprimanded, wide eyed and giggling again.

"For your information, sweetheart," said Harry, feeling extremely embarrassed by her son's casual reference to her love life, "I haven't seen Sam since Saturday."

"Oh, right," grinned Ed, "it's just that when I got that text saying you weren't coming home, I hadn't realised you'd got another bloke on the go too."

"I stayed with a very old friend, (that phrase again made her smile) and I had my own room if you must know so there's no need to get excited." The fact that she hadn't used that room was neither here nor there.

"Do you mean that James Dempsey?" Ed asked, suspiciously.

"Yes – that James Dempsey," she confirmed with a laugh. "He was my partner many years ago when I worked in the SI-10 division of the police."

It felt a bit strange to be talking about him now, after deliberately not mentioning him for so long. But he was back in her life again and she wanted him to stay there, not as a secret (she'd been there before and it didn't work) but as a fact.

"So what's he sniffing around for now?" Ed asked.

Harry frowned. "He hadn't been living in England until very recently. We've been catching up if that's alright with you."

Her son shrugged. "How come you've never mentioned it before?" he asked petulantly.

"There was no reason to!" Her voice had risen defensively. "Does it matter?"

Lydia decided it was time to intervene. "Ahh, Harry, he's just doing the protective son thing. I think he's showing concern… aren't you, Ed?"

He looked scornful. "Hardly. Just think it's weird, stopping over at his place when you've got a boyfriend."

Why was Ed being so priggish? Why was he that bothered even?

"Dempsey was a good partner. I put my life in his hands on more than one occasion and to have that much trust in someone is a big thing; it's a bond."

Ed made a face. "Trust? Yeah. Whatever," he mumbled as he made for the door with Lydia in tow. "We've got a lecture at half ten… dog neutering," he ground out.

Lydia cast Harry a pained expression as she followed him, bound for the Royal Veterinary College in Camden where they were both doing a BVetMed degree.

Ed had only met Dempsey once and that had been a very brief doorstep conversation by all accounts. And he'd never met Sam at all so there was no particular allegiance there. Maybe it was a good thing Ed would be at this pop festival thing of his next weekend; she could do without any awkwardness at Rosie Jarvis' party and it would be difficult enough as it was introducing her daughter to Dempsey. Her heart skipped a beat at that thought. But she knew she was just looking for trouble in her own mind; they'd say hello to each other and Jay would rush off to be with her own friends, not her mother's. A week tomorrow!

Harry went upstairs to change into fresh clothes. She had showered at Dempsey's and the scent of the shower gel rose up from her skin as she stripped off her dress.. Funny how a smell could tune in to your memories so vividly. The shower gel was one he used to use back in the eighties and she'd chided him about it this morning. He'd told her he'd never used it since leaving England at the end of '87 but had come across it in a chemists last week and thought it must be a sign. A sign of what, he hadn't gone into.

In her bedroom, she couldn't help but glance out of the window, looking out onto the street where only ten minutes earlier, James had dropped her off. They had sat and exchanged mobile numbers and he had once again (although with the utmost casualness) told her to be careful tonight. And then he had kissed her on the lips – nothing more than a brief peck which had surprised and disappointed her after the intimacy they had shared last night. She knew she should be glad, after all, hadn't she told him last night that she wanted to take it slowly. It was just that Dempsey being Dempsey, she hadn't expected him to take her at her word.

This morning had been lovely. He had made them breakfast and they had eaten it on the balcony. She had worn his bathrobe over the t-shirt and he swore a sweatshirt against the early morning chill. Last night had been a step in the right direction. Although talking had been difficult for her, her reward had been to hear him open up too. She had a feeling though that it wasn't just she who hadn't quite had enough courage to reveal the true depth of her feelings all those years ago. Would he have given up his old lifestyle to be with her? Would he ever have considered marrying her; having a family with her? No, of course not – he'd proved to be a bachelor through and through, as she had always known. He'd tried his best with Juliette but he just wasn't for settling down, obviously loved his son Jack but wasn't a family man. Letting him go had been the right decision.

Hadn't it?

Now in jeans and a sheer floral blouse, she sat for a moment, staring into the dressing table mirror. Would she still look like this had they stayed together? He'd told her she'd hardly changed – would he have changed her?

She reached down to the bottom drawer on the right, opening it quickly least she change her mind and chicken out. Right at the very back, beneath a large leather jewellery box was a series of fabric jewellery rolls she had acquired over her years of marriage to Phil. She took out the slimmest black one at the end and untied it, opening it out on the dressing table. There was a sealed envelope, slightly off white and crisped with age and Harry flattened it out somewhat nervously. Picking it up, the contents slid to one end with a small 'shushing' sound. She bit softly at her bottom lip and inserted a thumbnail under the flap. The dried out adhesive gave way and rather than tearing, the envelope flap loosened and sprang open. Harry tipped the bracelet into the palm of her hand and gazed in wonder at the shiny snake chain, the little silver puff heart still strung onto it. Yes, she'd kept it. What else could she have done with it? The engraved letters of 'J' and 'H' with the arrow separating them made it unique so she couldn't have given it to anybody. And she could never have just thrown it away. So it had remained hidden away from view for twenty-three years. She studied it now, draped across her wrist and the sight evoked a tidal wave of memories. She tried to latch onto the feelings that came with them but they seemed to slip away from her the moment they surged up.

She remembered that at the time he had apologised for the 'cheesiness' of the engraving but that had been just the start of many silly, romantic, sentimental gestures that he had felt obliged to apologise for. A softer, more tender side to Dempsey had been exposed and she realised now that she simply hadn't allowed herself to appreciate it at the time, not in the way she wanted to. She had been too concerned with covering up, smoothing over and sweeping under the carpet.

She lay the bracelet across her palm and without conscious thought, her ring finger closed over the heart to press it hard into her hand. That had been what she did whenever she wore it. Initially, it had been to hide the inscription from curious eyes but it had, before she knew it, become a habit and beyond that there was an underlying fear that she would lose it – that if she couldn't feel it, there in her palm, it may have come adrift from the chain. And if she lost it, she would lose what if represented, namely the love of the man who had given it. So it became more of a talisman than anything; a symbol of their love which was exactly what Dempsey had intended. After she'd stopped wearing it, it was weeks before the habit was broken but even after that, although the months went by, she still, in times of stress or pain, anxiety or self pity, found her finger curling up into the palm of her hand, worrying at the emptiness there. And even now, though years had passed, she still, just occasionally felt for that emptiness.

…..

Striding through the empty bar with an enormous grin on his face, Dempsey drummed his hands on the end of the bar top as he passed.

"Mornin', mornin', mornin'," he called out to whoever might be around.

Half way along sat Julius Bell with a newspaper spread out before him and a glass of orange juice in his hand.

Dempsey approached stealthily and with a sudden quick movement, grabbed his friend by the cheeks and kissed his forehead with a resounding smack of his lips.

"An' how you doin', doll-face?"

Julius knocked him away, scowling even as his laughter rang out. "What are you man, some kinda fairy or somethin'?"

Pulling up a stool beside him, Dempsey winked. "Top o' the Christmas tree, Ma, top o' the Christmas tree." His Cagney impression had Julius shaking his head in despair.

"So what's with the high spirits at…" he glanced up at the clock behind the bar, "a quarter after ten on a Friday mornin'?" He returned to his paper. "You get yourself laid last night?" he enquired casually. His head suddenly shot up again. "Ah no. Don't be tellin' me you and the blue blood bitch have been getting' it on." He eyed his fellow American with deep disgust.

Dempsey just grinned.

"Jeez, man. I don't believe you! Why don't you just let me buy you some rope – it'd be quicker."

"Hey, we just slept together."

"You strapped a time-bomb to your chest is what you did."

"No, I mean, we just slept together – nothin' else," he defended with a glint in his eye.

Julius shook his head in disbelief. "Yeah, right."

"We talked things through... sorted out some stuff."

"And no bodily fluids were exchanged while you 'Made Peace', said Julius sarcastically.

Dempsey pointed a finger, chuckling. "Hey, that's very good," he grinned. "We might've swapped a little spit o' course… ain't denyin' that."

Julius held a hand up. "Don't need to hear it."

"Ah, c'mmon big guy. I want you to be happy for me here." He twisted his knuckles into the black man's shoulder in a cajoling gesture. "Everything's different this time. We ain't got the same pressures no more, ain't no one to disapprove... 'cept you" he added pointedly, "and even if they did, what do I care?"

Julius resumed the perusal of his paper. "You're settin' yourself up, Dempsey," he sing-songed lightly.

"Nah. After tonight, it's gonna be plain sailin'."

Julius flicked over a page. "And what's happenin' tonight?"

"Well, Harry's been seein' this guy…" he started cagily.

"But tonight she's gonna dump him and the two of you are gonna ride off into the sunset together," Julius finished. "Man, you are deluded! She's got you dancin' to her tune again already!"

Dempsey winced. "Actually, it's a little more complicated than that," and he went on to explain Society Security's involvement and the connection he and Harry had with Sam Tate and the big-time drug dealer, Andor Kalivas.

After he'd finished, Julius took a moment to digest the facts. "So now you know it was this Kalivas fella screwed you over with McKintyre, you're gunnin' for him, right? Even though he was just a kid at the time passin' on a little info."

"He ain't a kid no more, he's a high rollin' piece of shit."

"You realise you're diggin' up your demons here, Jimmy Dee?"

"I prefer to think of it as layin' some ghosts to rest," he replied grimly.


	49. Chapter 49

So we're back to the 'Then'. I know everybody whinges like mad when I post a 'Then' chapter but think of it as medicine – it tastes horrible but it makes everything better in the end… lol

_Chapter 49_

"_You scared me half to death!" Harry held her fingers splayed across her chest and breathed deeply._

_He didn't move; didn't acknowledge her, there was no response at all and her initial relief began to curl itself up into something tight and brittle. "James?"_

_He sat hunched over in the bath, his head bowed, his arms hanging loosely before him. There was a weird three second delay before he finally turned his head to look at her._

"_Yeah." _

_The word was devoid of all expression but the disturbing thing was that so were his eyes._

"_Where the bloody hell have you been?" It came out high-pitched and accusing – not what she'd intended but the shock of seeing him had completely consumed her. His eyes had slipped away from hers to rest somewhere at her feet._

"_Where haven't I been?" Again, a delay before a smile was switched on._

"_You're drunk," she told him softly._

_Dempsey shook his head briefly. "No. No, I'm pissed. I think that would be a better description. Subtle difference…" His eyes travelled along the floor and seemed to stop back at her feet. "Double meaning."_

"_I realise you're upset but…"_

"_See, that's the thing," he continued, oblivious to Harry's words, "the Brits and the Yanks, we both speak English but somethin' kinda gets lost in translation." He tilted his head a fraction. "You know what I mean, Harry?"_

_His neutral expression bothered her._

"_I say French Fries, you say chips, I say sidewalk, you say pavement, I say love and you say…?"_

"_Please let's not do this now," she begged._

"_You say… let's sweep it under the carpet, let's pretend it doesn't exist."_

"_James…" She took a step closer, reached out to touch his hair but quickly withdrew again, instead hitching one arm to her waist and bringing her other hand up to cover her mouth. She was in danger of falling apart again._

"_An' whadya know? It ain't so hard to pretend no more." A ghostly laugh._

"_We can talk in the morning. There's no point getting into this now – it's late, we're both tired."_

_Slowly he turned his head away, back to staring down at the water._

_This wasn't the confrontation Harry had expected. She wanted him to yell at her, wanted to see him angry and frustrated, kicking a door, throwing something against the wall, anything but this alien behaviour she was witnessing._

"_Are you getting out of there?" she asked quietly._

_No response._

'Oh God, this is it isn't it? We're over. There's nothing left and I don't know what to say'

_She wanted to scream at him for what he'd done yesterday in court. He'd been so weak and foolish and made them both so vulnerable and she hated him for that. They could no longer work together – that much was obvious. Terry McKintyre had an unshakeable hold on their working partnership that Spikings would be obliged to terminate – he'd already hinted as much today and would without a doubt be making if official the moment Dempsey showed his face. And then? It wouldn't make a difference to McKintyre. Whilst both or even one of them remained within the force, their relationship made them a target, gave him a hold over them and ensured a place in his pocket. The only way out now was for them both to disassociate themselves with the police force – or each other. But they both knew things couldn't ever be the same between them. Something had gone and no matter how many times they talked it through, Harry just knew they wouldn't get it back. It hurt like the slow drip of acid on her heart._

"_No one's seen you since last night."_

_She picked up the large natural sponge she'd bought him and a bottle of the Badedas body wash he'd always used since she'd known him. She loved the smell – it was synonymous now with Dempsey; with the feel of his skin under her fingertips, the scent fleetingly filling her nostrils whenever they were in close proximity._

_Harry got down on her knees, leaning against the side of the bath as she plunged the sponge into the bathwater._

_The feel of the stone cold water made her gasp. It wasn't the temperature that shook her but all that it implied. In that split second, her brain burned with the realisation of the torment he was in. How long had he sat there as the water gradually cooled? Two hours? Three? All night? Quietly, she asked the question but was met with more silence._

"_You must be freezing," she tried again._

_Rising to her feet, she bent down and pulled the plug out. "I hope there's some hot water left. Is the immersion heater still on?" This time she didn't even expect an answer, just ran the tap with her hand in the stream of water until she felt it grow too scalding to bare. Harry watched the bath water gurgle away and when it was down to only six inches deep, she turned on the hot tap again._

"_It'll warm up in a minute."_

_What was he trying to do, punish himself? Was he even aware of what he was doing? She tried to quash the fluttering fear she felt stir in her stomach as she mixed the water around._

_Dempsey began to shiver. That was a good thing, wasn't it? He was reacting._

_Turning the tap off, she once again took up the sponge and began to carefully sluice water over his back and shoulders._

"_Better?" she murmured._

_He offered no resistance as she dribbled the body wash onto the sponge and applied the soapy fragrance to the back of his neck, working her way down his body, lifting his arms, washing his chest, dipping below the surface of the water to clean him more intimately before moving on to his legs. Dempsey winced and she realised that his limbs had grown stiff from the extended period of inactivity._

"_Lie back and let me wash your hair," she told him authoritatively. Harry eased him back and saw him close his eyes against the aching pains running through his lower body._

_The sound of the gently splashing water in the half-light created a soothing effect that Harry tried to absorb but the fountain of emotions inside her rose up hard and strong. She studied his immobile features whilst her hands massaged shampoo into his scalp._

'Why did it have to end like this, James? Why did you have to throw away your integrity on a man like McKintyre?'

_When she had finished, she fetched a fresh towel from the airing cupboard and made him get out of the bath._

"_I'll make you a hot drink in a minute. Are you hungry? When did you last eat?"_

_She knew this wasn't helping. She was clinging to him, treating him with kid gloves._

_Dempsey just stood there on the mat, letting her towel him dry, seemingly oblivious to her ministrations until she started to rub at his hair. His arms suddenly came up to encase her, holding her tightly to him and lowering his head to fit against her neck._

"_Don't leave me, Harry."_

_She froze. What did he expect her to say? The whole thing had just blown up in their faces; there was no going back._

"_I want you to… I just need you to stay with me tonight… just tonight, Harry." He turned his head and she could feel his lips move against her neck. "Please," he croaked._

More to follow soon - it won't be too bad, honestly - just grin and bear it ;-)


	50. Chapter 50

_Chapter 50_

You spurn my natural emotions  
You make me feel like dirt and I'm hurt  
And if I start a commotion  
I run the risk of losing you and that's worse

Ever fallen in love with someone  
Ever fallen in love in love with someone  
Ever fallen in love in love with someone  
You shouldn't've fallen in love with

Fine Young Cannibals – Ever Fallen In Love (words by Pete Shelley)

(April 1987)

"_I'll stay," she soothed, "of course I will."_

_It had never been her intention to go home tonight; she needed him as much as he needed her now. The anger had dissipated since yesterday and she was left with an overwhelming sadness that had furrowed deep inside her. _

_Running her fingers through his damp hair to get it into place, she looked up into his eyes and forced a note of laughter into her voice as she said, "You'd better put something on before you catch your death." Her throat caught at the end of the sentence and she hid the tears that had formed by squeezing his shoulder and turning away. "I'll fix us a plate of sandwiches – always supposing you've got some bread of course," a stilted laugh, "and something to put in between."_

_At the door, she looked back. "Tea or coffee?"_

_But he was slipping away again, gingerly lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bathtub as though physically wounded in some way._

"_Come through when you're ready then," she prompted._

_Harry forced herself to go to the kitchen, busying herself with the task of putting a snack together. The bread, as expected was past its' best so she opted for cheese on toast and decided that maybe hot chocolate would be a better alternative to a caffeinated drink. He made it so much better than she did though._

_She stood over the saucepan on the hob, biting at the skin around her index finger as she waited for the milk to start simmering. Was he still sitting there in the bathroom? Was she going to have to go and get him? A new wave of anxiety followed that thought. What if he couldn't snap out of this malaise?_

_A low shuffling sound behind her made her turn sharply._

_Dempsey slunk into a chair at the table, dressed now in grey sweatpants and an old t-shirt, his feet bare. He held his head in his hands, elbows on the tabletop._

"_Perfect timing," she breezed, placing a large plate piled with slices of cheese on toast before him. _

_He didn't move._

"_Dempsey, please eat something," she said sternly._

_It was enough to galvanise him into picking up a triangle and taking a bite but the chewing slowed and he sat gazing down at the plate whilst Harry finished making the hot chocolate._

_She came back to the table with the mugs and seated herself warily. He swallowed his mouthful of food._

"_I don't know what you want me to say." Harry lifted her mug of hot chocolate to her lips but couldn't face it. "What am I supposed to say, James?"_

_She reached across the small table and touched the tips of her fingers to his._

_His mouth twitched. "Nothin'." He shook his head. "You don't have to say nothin', princess."_

_The sound of his voice brought an easing of her mind and she automatically covered his hand with her own. "You didn't come home last night… I was worried."_

_Stroking his thumb against the hollow at the base of hers, he looked down at their hands. "I couldn't… I knew you'd be here… couldn't face you."_

_Harry quailed miserably. "Where did you go – after Stork and Dougie put you in the taxi?"_

_Dempsey didn't question how she knew about the tax. _

_The hand holding the toast was trembling ever so slightly when he said, "Told the driver I was gonna puke and he let me out." _

_His head dropped a little lower as he dredged up his memories of the previous night. "I found a club where I could carry on drinking but I guess I upset some people. Got myself thrown out."_

"_And then?" Harry pictured him slumped in a shop doorway._

"_Then it gets kinda blurry."_

"_You don't remember anything?"_

_Dempsey pulled his hand away and let the slice of toast fall back onto the plate. "Yeah, I woke up in a cop shop." He mashed the heels of his hands against heavy eyelids. "I was told a couple woolly suits took me off the street. They said I was… uncooperative." He rested his forearms on the table and laughed with a manic sort of belligerence. " They took me in… shook me down for i.d. …found my badge and offered to bring me home. Apparently I asked to spend the night in the cells."_

_Harry held her mug in both hands. So a night behind bars had been preferable to facing her. She merely nodded her understanding and took up a piece of cheese on toast._

"_So where've you been all day?" she asked, nibbling at the crust._

_Dempsey shrugged. "Walkin' mostly… with a half bottle of Scotch to keep me company."_

"_James!" She turned her head away as she let that information sink in._

_Once again they lapsed into silence._

_Harry pushed the plate an inch or so towards him as a prompt for him to eat something, instinctively knowing that he would have failed to provide his body with any sustenance during those long, useless hours of alcoholic contemplation._

_So Dempsey ate to please her, drank the hot chocolate to gain her approval and concentrated on emptying his mind of everything that was damaging him inside. And she was right, wasn't she. Harry always knew what was best for him… for them. Why hadn't he listened until now? Why hadn't he understood? It was a sin, wasn't it - pride? If he hadn't wanted the world to know he'd hooked himself such a hot… Pride comes before a fall. But he loved her. God, how he loved her. Whenever he heard her laugh, he still got that same rush, after three years of knowing her, her laughter still gave him a high. And now, it felt like something – some part of them had died, literally died because he knew it wasn't ever coming back._

_Harry collected the mugs and plate and quickly washed them up, feeling his eyes on her as she did so. One of them had to say something; they were putting off the inevitable. He was more rational now; more accessible and it somehow seemed impossible to avoid the issue any longer._

"_Harry."_

_She tensed._

"_I didn't have no choice."_

"_Didn't you?" was her achromatic response._

"_McKintyre knew I didn't have to take the stand. I told him I wouldn't give evidence against him. But he's a sick bastard; he wanted to hear me lie, he wanted the whole court to hear a cop tell them he's an innocent man."_

_His fists clenched on his knees underneath the table._

"_You didn't have to make that decision on your own. Maybe it wasn't even your decision to make," she said carefully._

_Dempsey shook his head. "Couldn't afford for no-one to make it for me."_

"_But we're police officers. We have a duty to uphold the law at whatever cost," she recited coolly. _

"_Whatever cost?" He lifted his eyes to hers, a faint smile at his lips. " You gotta understand, Harry, the guy's been blessed with a real vivid imagination. The things he said… 'bout you." Dempsey swallowed down hard. " He had what you might call, a psychological advantage." _

_Vigorously, she wiped the work surface over with a dishcloth. "Stick and stones, Dempsey,"_

"_Rape and sodomy, Makepeace and he meant every word that came outta his f*%kin' mouth!"_

_He had lost the reserve he had vowed to keep. Breathing shakily, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as though to eradicate those last words. He thrust upwards to his feet, leaning on the table for support. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't of…"_

_Harry turned, a fixed, reassuring smile in place to cover the fear and revulsion that she felt creeping through her like a disease._

"_McKintyre really did a number on you, didn't he?"_

_Was that even her voice?_

_He rapped his knuckles against his left temple. "Cracked me wide open." Feverish laughter spilled from his lips. "See, I know he's not the type to say somethin' less he means it." _

_Dempsey went to a cupboard and got out a glass. "And I know, sure as day follows night, if I hadn't stood as a witness in his defence, you wouldn't be here in my apartment right now, tryin' to figure out why you ever let yourself get involved with such a waste of skin."_

_He ran the cold water tap to fill his glass and drank it down in one._

"_I 'let myself get involved' with you, James because there was some…" she threw her hands up, "some irresistible force between us. There always was and I think… I know there always will be but –"_

"_But!" He slammed the glass down onto the counter top. "But we're done, right? The final nail in the coffin lid's been hammered home. It's a relief though, huh?"_

"_A relief?" Harry glowered, cutting in before he had a chance to continue. "How can anything be a relief?"_

"_No more hiding. No more secrecy. Sure it's a messy ending but at least now you can get back on track."_

"_What the hell are you talking about?" she cried, growing more and more frustrated with his meandering, accusing attitude._

"_You can resume the status quo – go back to high tea on the croquet lawn with the fawning, jug-earred hooray-henrys; luncheon at the polo club, wine tasting and smug chit-chat with all the other society gals." Dempsey smiled horribly. "They'll accept you back into the fold, Harry. Admit you messed up with the crass, overbearing Yank, eat a little humble pie, even make out like it was all an adventure – like crossing The Andes by yak." He let out a high-pitched chuckle that made Harry blanche. " It was just your rebellious period."_

_He didn't see the slap coming but he certainly felt it._

"_Don't you dare!" Cold rage danced in Harry's eyes. "Don't you dare try to pretend none of this matters to me," she pointed a finger in his face, "just to make yourself feel better because I won't let you do it!" She looked at him imperiously. "My poor James. How much harder all this must be for you without a title to your name. Nothing to fall back on when the going gets tough; no friends in high places to get you what you want… pull a few strings. Hmm?" she leered. "Well let me tell you, what I wanted could never be bought with money or social whoring and if it could, I wouldn't have wanted it in the first place."_

"_Yeah, you take the moral high ground, baby," Dempsey shot back. "You must really be short on oxygen up there 'cause you just ain't seein' it the way it is. You were never serious about us… you may have thought you were but let's face it, I was never gonna be anything more than fun and games…."_

_Harry's eyes were wide. "You're completely paranoid!"_

"… _your bit of rough…"_

"_My WHAT?" she balked._

"_You think I haven't heard your friends talk about us?" Dempsey asked. "It's one big joke to them – I'm one big joke."_

_Harry turned away, the palm of her right hand against her forehead. "Can you hear yourself?" she asked incredulously. "Do you honestly think it's all about you?" She eyeballed him then. "Well, do you? I'm totally impervious to the comments, aren't I? I find it so bloody hilarious when Alan 'doffs' his sodding cap at me every time he sees me. And the way everyone thinks I'm just playing at a career in the police force because I'm obviously rich as Croesus and don't need to work at all."_

"_Those things are said to your face… you know… in jest, Harry," he said with heavy sarcasm._

"_Oh, I see. So when one of your mates shouts across the pub, 'Oye, Dempsey, posh totty alert', as I walk through the door, that's alright because they're laughing with me and not at me."_

"_You got it, sweetheart. They ain't talkin' down to you," he thrust his arm out to make his point, "and that's the difference. No one's ever gonna talk down to you."_

"_Maybe that's because I'm always held at arms length," Harry yelled. Suddenly feeling the fire go out of her, her head dropped._

"_Is that what you think?" His passion subsided just as quickly._

"_Did you think you had the insecurities market cornered?" she sneered. Harry couldn't stop the tears that seemed to spring out of the pain flooding through her chest. "You stupid bastard." _

_Angrily, she tried to scrub the tears away but they were falling too quickly._

_When Dempsey attempted to draw her into his arms, she shrugged him off. He tried again and this time she pushed him away from her._

"_Harry…"_

"_Get off me!"_

_He reached out to claim her but she lashed out with flailing hands. "I said get off me… get off me, Dempsey," she sobbed. "It's over."_

_Her whole body shuddered as though horrified by the finality of the words and she jammed a fist to her mouth to staunch the heaving gasps. "Oh God!" _

_She met his eyes as the reality of it hit home._

"_Oh God." She repeated, over and over until Dempsey gathered her to him. And yet still she refused to yield to him, unaware that the only thing keeping her on her feet was the concentrated pain in her upper arms where Dempsey's fingers were biting deeper with each passing second._

"_It's okay, baby. It's okay." He managed to force a strength into his voice to cover the lie. It wasn't okay; losing Harry was not okay. "I know it's over."_

_She collapsed against him then, letting him take her weight in his arms._

"_It isn't fair, James. It was supposed to be about us," she moaned, "nobody else."_

_He kissed the top of her head, his lips caressing her hair._

"_We'd have been great together on a desert island, huh?" he laughed raggedly._

_Harry nodded her head fervently into his neck. "You shimmying up palm trees," she gulped, "and me sunbathing on the beach."_

"_You got it."_

_They clung together tightly._

_After a few minutes, Dempsey moved her away from him, holding his hands to her cheeks. "I really wanted it to work, princess; I wanted it so bad."_

_Harry covered his hands with her own, closing her eyes slowly as she smiled her agreement. _

_He watched the glistening diamonds tremble on her eyelashes. She was beautiful. He'd heard somewhere how it was all down to mathematics; this perception of true beauty, there was a set formulae for it even. Something to do with the distance between the features – forehead from chin, eyes from nose and so on. Marilyn Monroe had it apparently, as did Rock Hudson and Dempsey could vouch for every one of Harry's measurements as being perfect._

_He felt the tears splash onto the backs of his hands. She opened her eyes again before she said with great clarity, "I love you, Lieutenant."_

_She brought a hand to his face, thumbing away a trickling tear that he hadn't even been aware of._

"_And I love you, Sergeant. Like I'll never love anyone again."_

_They kissed – like they had that first time, out on the street by Dempsey's parked car. Soft and teasing, shyly seductive, their lips brushed before pushing together a little harder. _

_Dempsey drew away, surprised by the depth of longing that had materialized so unexpectedly. '_Is this alright?' _he asked without words. Harry's eyes fell to his mouth, inviting him back to continue what they had started. Their chaste kissing was protracted; five minutes, ten minutes, stretching out with immaculate sweetness before the moment was ripe for progression and even then, when their mouths opened up to each other, it was a slow, unhurried advancement._

_After half an hour of this tantalising closeness they were both so worked up with unspent passion that they were trembling in each others arms. Their fingers lace together, arms stretching out to arc at their sides as they gazed rapturously into each others eyes._

"_Come on."_

_It was little more than a whisper but Dempsey had her words ringing in his ears all the way to the bedroom. _

_They both understood it was going to be the last time and it was a slow and beautiful process that lead them to the end….._


	51. Chapter 51

_There's going to be a little run of 'Now' chapters so you can put away your razor blades and step away from the parapet for the time being ;-)_

Chapter 51

Harry guessed there to be approximately three hundred people at the Valencia Party. The room where the actual catwalk show was being held was packed with bodies, all dressed to impress and anxious to be seen. It amused Harry, who had been weaned with a silver spoon, to watch the strutting etiquette of the nouveau riche. She could spot good breeding a mile off and what she found so lamentable was that the majority of these people were faking it.

She had to admit that the décor was magnificent. Prop scenery had been ranged around the outer edges of the room to recreate the stunning Gothic, Baroque and Romanesque influenced architecture of Valencia. Basilica and bell tower flanked painted winding streets and the focal point was an ancient castle, festooned with silk flags of burnt orange, deep red and wedgewood blue that billowed out over the stage area of the catwalk.

They took their seats, second row back which Sam took exception to but refrained from making an issue out of. Harry began flicking through the small A5 brochure she'd picked up off the chair. Several paragraphs of hype for the two designers, Catherine Anouchi and Cora Smedley; an overblown narrative on nineteenth century Valencian culture and a series of very arty images which seemed to have little to do with the show itself. She turned to the back to examine a small swatch of colourful fabrics and realised that the smell that had filled her nostrils since arriving was coming from the pieces of impregnated cloth fastened to the inside of the brochures. The rich, heavy scent of spiced oranges and musky woods wasn't unpleasant and Harry appreciated the contribution it made to the general atmosphere.

She leaned over to Sam, pointing at a thick, blue damask. "I think I used to have a three piece suite covered with that," she quipped.

He smiled indulgently. "Gorgeous, isn't it? I'm looking forward to seeing how they're going to put it all together."

Her little witticism had obviously fallen on deaf ears. "Mm. Should be interesting."

When she had met up with him this evening, the loudness of the tie that was wearing him had almost made her wish she herself were deaf. Actually, it was more a cravat – lime green, black and white. Harry studiously avoided looking now for fear of breaking into scurrilous laughter.

The show was entertaining; dramatically quirky outfits worn by gorgeous models in long, blue-black wigs, either left loose or done up into large buns at either ear in the Star Wars, Princess Leia fashion, it being the traditional Valencian style. The whole was over-scored by powerful, classical baroque inspired rock music and by the end of it, Harry felt completely energised.

She and Sam made their way through to the adjoining bar where traditional Spanish tapas dishes of patatas bravas, olla chura, sepia and hervido were set out on rustic, hand painted ceramic plates. The serving crew was handing out glasses of Agua de Valencia, an orange juice and sparkling Cava combination and jugs of the traditional sweet and milky iced Horchata almond drink stood at intervals along the buffet tables.

"So what did you think of it?" he asked her as he picked out olives and chorizo from the array.

"I loved it!" she enthused, genuinely impressed by what she'd seen. "All that brocade and lace was just beautiful. Totally impractical of course."

"But the undiluted version of what'll be hitting the high street next year."

"Evening, Sam," smiled an attractive dark-haired woman somewhere in her forties.

Both Sam and Harry turned.

"Karen!"

He kissed her cheek before turning to Harry. "Darling, I'd like you to meet Karen Hammond. Karen owns Crash, the modelling agency Carnaby Luxe uses."

He placed an arm around Harry's waist. "Karen, this is Harry Cavanagh."

Harry put her drink on the table and they shook hands.

"So are you in the business too, Harry?" she asked affably.

Harry shook her head. "No, not I! Nothing so creative, I'm afraid. I'm a free lance writer."

"And will you be writing about this?"

She thought about that for a moment. "Well, I hadn't planned on it but you know, I think I might."

They chatted a while about the designers and Karen's agency which was the 'stable' of several well known fashion models that Harry was familiar with before Karen excused herself to join a group she recognised over by the bar.

Sam lead her around the room, introducing her to various acquaintances within the industry and eventually getting to meet Anouchi and Smedley themselves.

Around 9:30pm, Harry found herself lumbered with a vacuous nineteen year old named Daisy who apparently had been _bought _here by her partner, Casper Chen. So the white slave market was alive and flourishing in London's West End, thought Harry as Daisy pointed out a chubby Chinese gentleman wearing a black silk suit and sporting a bright red cock's comb hairdo.

Feeling her phone vibrate from within her handbag, Harry surreptitiously picked it out to glance at the sender i.d. _Dempsey_ – and it simply read, '_Call me_'.

She frowned. Why? What did he think had been happening? Still, she did have some news to tell him, didn't she?

Sam came back at that point, a smile on his face.

"Harry, there's somebody you've just got to meet." He rested a hand on her hip and gently pulled her away. "Sorry," he said to Daisy, "hope you don't mind."

Harry allowed herself to be steered away and Sam whispered close to her ear, "Thought you needed rescuing."

Harry grinned. "I certainly need another drink."

"G and T?" he asked.

"Please." She half raised a finger towards the back of the room. "I just need to pop to the ladies."

"I'll be at the bar."

Entering the sumptuous bathroom facilities, she automatically checked her hair and make-up in the mirror before securing herself behind a cubicle door. After performing the necessary, she settled back on the toilet seat lid and crossed her legs as she found Dempsey's number on her phone.

"So how's it goin'?" Dempsey drawled with what Harry suspected to be forced disinterest.

"Well Kalivas arrived half an hour ago with a suitcase full of coke for Sam who started throwing it around like confetti and seven people o.d'd. Naturally I had to step in and the pair of them are at this precise moment lying hog-tied on the floor of the ladies lavatories."

"Slow night, huh?" he commented, unfazed.

"The night is young, Dempsey. What do you want?"

"So you enjoyin' yourself, princess?"

Harry smiled. "Actually, I am. The show was quite spectacular." She remembered then that Dempsey was at 'work'. "And how's your _show _going? Had any knickers thrown at you yet?"

He gave a low chuckle. "Any particular song that would inspire you?"

"Really can't think of one I'm afraid," was the caustic response.

"Have you managed to ruffle any feathers yet?"

"Haven't tried. I did have a conversation with a woman by the name of Karen Hammond though who featured in some of that c.c.t.v video. If memory serves, it was around about a fortnight ago. Mid forties, dark shoulder length hair…"

"Cream trouser suit, big bronzey-coloured shoulder bag, classy lookin'," Dempsey recalled. "Who is she?"

"A big name in the modelling industry by all accounts; owns Crash Models in Piccadilly. She provides the girls for the Carnaby Luxe fashion shoots and shows."

"Interesting."

"I thought so."

"Got an angle for you."

"Go on."

"How 'bout you suggest to Sam the Man that you may be up for some recreational substance abuse, see what reaction you get."

"Shock, I would hope."

"Great – then go for it; the element of surprise."

"Dempsey!" she protested.

"What?"

"I would like to come out of this with a modicum of self respect."

"You will – when you 'fess up to bein' an ex-police officer. It's kind of a honey-trap, is all."

"I know what it is – that's the problem. I don't like the idea of setting him up. I'm… involved, with him, aren't I."

"Yeah, you're involved with a drug dealer," Dempsey had no qualms about pointing out.

"You don't know that," she told him austerely.

"So you need to find out; glad we're agreed on that."

She sighed heavily.

"Got a better idea?" he asked.

"I'll think about it."

Dempsey grunted. "Let me know how you do, okay? I should be done here around eleven-thirty tops."

"Is that taking into account your standing ovation?" she teased.

"Make it eleven forty-five - I got the underwear count to do."

"Goodbye, Dempsey."

She snapped her phone shut with a mild grin. _Idiot._

Sam was half way down his gin and tonic when Harry arrived back at the bar.

He was chatting with a pair of overly keen '_followers of fashion_' who were introduced to her as Benjamin and Paulie.

"Oh my God," said Paulie, grabbing her right hip with his drink-free hand, "you've got such a fab figure for this style."

"Mm. Hasn't she?" said Benjamin in studious agreement. "Very lovely choice of colour, too. Karen Millen, yes?"

"Err… yes," she confirmed as Benjamin reached out to slide his fingers over the heavy satin fabric of a cap sleeve.

If it weren't for Benjamin's plucked eyebrows and Paulie's subtle smear of lipgloss, Harry would have felt quite manhandled!

"Bit of a scream, those two, aren't they?" Sam laughed after the pair had departed in search of the Champinones Y queso Harry had recommended to them.

"A little goes a long way, I think."

She finished her drink and then immediately regretted doing so. Sam would now insist on getting her another and really, she should be keeping a clear head for this.

He took the glass out of her hand and put it with his own on the bar top before manoeuvring her into a softly lit configuration of blocky cream sofas and chairs a few feet away. There was enough room for them to sit a couple of places away from the nearest person but still Sam turned his body to shield them against on-lookers.

"Look, Harry," he said quietly and she detected a nervous strain in his voice. "I've got a confession to make."


	52. Chapter 52

Chapter 52

"A confession?" she smiled, wishing she still had that glass in her hand to distract her. Was he about to come clean about his illicit activities? Why now?

"Yes, I've erm…" he ran a finger over her knee in a vague circle before leaning in closer to kiss her lips very lightly. He moved back but only a few inches. "I've booked us a room at the One Aldwych."

Harry didn't know what to say. "Tonight?" she heard herself asking, rather stupidly.

Sam smiled tentatively. "I thought it might be nice; you know, for our first night together - to make it a bit special… memorable."

His hand closed over her knee. "Have I done the wrong thing?

His eyes lifted to hers.

_Oh, bugger! _said Harry's mind with a dark stoicism.

"I know Champagne and roses isn't the spontaneous route," he continued, "but, well, we're both old enough to know what we want so we may as well do it in style."

And what did age have to do with spontaneity? Wasn't that the whole point; emotion was spontaneous at whatever age.

"It was a lovely idea," she stalled.

Dempsey's invitation to stay over at his place last night had been spontaneous…

"Is that a yes?"

… as was her acceptance. And it had been the right thing to do, she was sure of that. They had connected again and oh, she would need that connection soon, when the time was right.

"I'm a sucker for Champagne and roses, Sam."

"Fantastic!" He sat back against the cream leather, mimicking relief as he passed a hand over his brow. "I can relax again now. I've been on tenterhooks all evening, wondering if you'd object." He reached down for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Let's have another drink, shall we? Same again?"

Harry checked her watch. It was only ten past ten. She had to string this out for another hour and a half.

Sam unfortunately misconstrued the action and bending down to her ear, he whispered, "There's nothing to stop us going now if you like."

"There is if I decide to write this up in an article like Karen suggested." She made her eyes wide as she said, "I need to soak up the atmosphere."

He laughed. "We'll give it another hour then before I whisk you away for our night of passion."

"Sounds perfect."

They kissed briefly and Sam went to fetch their drinks.

This was getting ridiculous!

Quickly turning her back to the bar, Harry snatched her mobile out of her bag and began typing a text. '_Ring asap – night of passion on cards'_

"By the way," said Harry when Sam was beside her on the sofa again, "we have a mutual acquaintance."

There – she'd said it – no going back now. It'd worked once, why not a second time?

"Really? Who's that?"

She watched his face closely as she said, "Andor Kalivas."

Her years as a police detective had taught her how to read a face with remarkable accuracy and she could see a slight tensing around the cheekbones that spoke volumes.

He nodded, smiling valiantly. "Right. How do you know Andy then?"

"Family friend… well, I say family friend," she corrected, "he's more a friend of my ex-husband." _Sorry, Phillip. _"I bumped into him the other day," she gave him a warm smile here, "and naturally I mentioned you."

Harry paused, offering him a chance to step in.

"I don't know him that well… as you say, just an acquaintance."

She gave him a sidelong look. "Are you being a naughty boy, Sam?" she grinned.

"How do you mean?" He brought his hands together nervously to hang between his knees.

"Well obviously it wasn't discussed but Andor has a lot of customers who're interested in more than just Greek cuisine." Harry leaned against him flirtatiously. "Are you one of them?" she wheedled.

"Me?"

She laughed, tilting her head to look him straight in the eye. "It wouldn't bother me." Her eyes flicked momentarily to his mouth.

This was Harry at her most persuasively alluring; was she losing her touch, she wondered?

"Really?" He was genuinely surprised. "Didn't have you down as the type, to be honest."

She shrugged, still pressed against his side. "Well, you know; special occasions." Her voice was low.

God, why was this so difficult? She used to do this for a living, didn't she – creating alter egos and cover stories, getting what she wanted through inveiglement and deceit. But this was too personal; it just seemed cruel and on top of that, there was the resurgence of feelings surrounding James' reappearance in her life and that was piling on the guilt.

"Okay, you're right, I do buy from him but it's purely business," he told her warily.

"Of course it is!" Harry laughed as she stroked the sleeve of his jacket. "You give him lots of money and he gives you the stuff."

"No… look, I don't touch it myself, it's more like… well, I use it as currency if you like."

"I don't follow."

But then the cogs began to turn and Harry automatically looked up to seek out Karen Hammond in the crowd.

"The models? You buy it for the models?"

"A sweetener. It gets me the models I want, when I want them. I need the best. We're launching a nationwide advertising campaign for Christmas when we open the on-line store and I need household names."

Harry shook her head in disbelief. "And the household names need their nose candy."

"Not necessarily them but for Crash as a whole, it's a necessary evil." Sam glanced about them, conscious of the crowd. "Contrary to what you may have been lead to believe these days, there's still a thriving drug culture within the modelling industry. It's how they operate. Karen has to provide for the models who are into that scene."

"And you supply her to ensure you get the service you want."

"It's called 'oiling the wheels'."

"Sounds like a very dangerous game you're playing, Sam."

He was clearly very edgy, knocking the heels of his hands together in agitation. "Don't I know it. Imagine what it'd do to my reputation… my business if something like this got out." He looked at her meaningfully.

Harry made a zipping motion across her mouth. "My lips are sealed." And then she laughed, sitting back a little to cross her legs, hands clasping the edge of the sofa. "Is that why you've got those security cameras all over the place?" Harry made big eyes at him again. "To protect your stash?"

"Well I'm glad you can see the funny side. If an Englishman's home is his castle, then mine comes complete with a reinforced portcullis these days."

"Why?" she asked innocently, "what's the big deal?"

Sam leaned in closer, aware that they could be overhead. "'cause it makes me bloody nervous! I can have as much as twelve grands worth of coke sitting in the safe at any one time and I need to know who's coming to the house before I open my door to them."

Harry was staggered. "That's a serious amount!"

"Karen calls it off as and when it's required… you look shocked."

He reached for her hand. "Sorry."

Harry squeezed his hand reassuringly. "It's fine, honestly. It's just that there's a whole new dimension to you that I know nothing about."

Sam grimaced. "It isn't a dimension – more like my Mister Hyde. I'm not proud of it, it's just the way it has to be to stay in the game."

He took a sip from his gin and tonic. "So… you're alright with it?"

"I'll cope," she smiled.

"Good. That's quite a relief." He closed the gap between them and kissed her tenderly. "Shall we go?"

She didn't dare to look at her watch again but she guessed it could only be eleven at the earliest.

"Why not?"

Picking up her bag, she took a deep breath and took the hand that was offered as she rose to her feet.


	53. Chapter 53

_This one's for Lou... maybe next time ;-)_

Chapter 53

They said goodnight to several people on the way out and Harry was grateful for the minutes it added on.

Outside in Kingly Court, Sam raised an arm to hail a taxi but she stopped him.

"Why don't we walk? It's a lovely night and it can only be twenty minutes or so from here, can't it?"

That should carry them through to around eleven thirty.

_Come on, Dempsey… call me! If you finish the night with more than one pair of slightly greying belly-warmers I shall be very surprised._

Sam looked up at the big yellow crescent of moon hanging in the blackness.

"Very romantic," he smiled as he took her hand.

Harry deliberately slowed her pace as they walked but by the time they'd arrived at the One Aldwych, there had still been no call.

It was eleven thirty-two when Sam was handed the key card. Harry hoped that if her nerves were in evidence, he would simply put it down to pre-coital anticipation. She couldn't have missed the call, surely, not when she'd been listening out for it so avidly.

"I've never been here before," he told her, "but it's had some fantastic reviews since it underwent refurbishment a couple of years ago."

Harry glanced around the lobby, noting the elegant, contemporary styling of the white pillars, the neutral brown and beige fabrics of the seating areas, the huge flamboyant displays of dried flowers and grasses mounted on clear acrylic podiums. At one end was a very minimalist bar where several people were enjoying a nightcap.

"It's very chic," she answered diplomatically, wondering why someone had seen fit to rip the soul out of this beautiful old Edwardian building.

What if he'd forgotten to check his phone – had lost track of the time or fallen into conversation with some of his regular crowd?

The room, to Harry's mind was certainly not conducive to a night of either romance or passion.

Crisp white Egyptian cotton linen adorned the king size bed, backed by a high black headboard. White shaded chrome lamps stood on black bedside tables and to one side, a small desk with laptop amenities. Three large curtained windows were ranged around one half of the circular suite that on closer inspection gave on to an excellent view of Waterloo Bridge. A sitting room area comprising of a grape coloured plump sofa and a couple of matching straight-backed armchairs were positioned around a black coffee table and clear glass vases of carefully arranged fresh flowers covered several surfaces. It was all very… precise.

Then she looked across to the low unit holding the flat screen T.V and dvd player where a Champagne bucket and a massive bouquet of red roses resided.

"Ahh, Sam, you were serious!" Harry exclaimed.

She strolled over and plucked out the card nestling amongst the roses. It read simply: _For Harry – from a very lucky man._

"Of course I was serious."

He came and stood behind her, his hands on her hips. "You know I'm _very _serious about you, Harry."

Turning her wrist a fraction as she popped the card back, she was able to see it was now eleven forty.

"That sounds… serious," she laughed, trying to find the right tone.

His arms folded around her waist and he lowered his head to her neck.

_You'd better bloody well ring me Dempsey or you'll be bloody sorry!_

She wasn't giving up now. She had to keep Sam believing she wanted this relationship or she'd lose their route to Kalivas. It was his own fault, she told herself; Sam had brought this upon himself and she couldn't help it if his feelings for her had escalated.

"The Champagne will keep 'til later," he murmured as he slid her evening bag off her shoulder and deposited it beside the flowers.

Harry tensed, feeling his fingers nimbly undoing the little hook and eye at the top of her dress.

And then everything seemed to happen at once:

Sam began inching her zip down, Harry started to excuse herself with the intention of killing a few extra minutes in the bathroom and – glory of all glories, her mobile sprang to life with that horrid little 'tring' ringtone that she kept meaning to change but never got around to. It was music to her ears!

"I'd better just get that," Harry said, grabbing up her bag.

_Talk about 'saved by the bell'._

"Hello, darling," she said with a faint trace of surprise."

"Hello yourself. What's this dirty text message you sent me, huh?" Dempsey joked.

"That doesn't matter, sweetheart. What's wrong? You sound upset."

"You still with Sam?"

"Yes," said Harry, gratified he was on track. "Are you at his flat? What's he done?" She tried to sound a little panicky which wasn't too hard given the strength of her heartbeat at the moment.

"Do you need me to come get you?" Dempsey asked.

Harry began pacing the floor agitatedly. "No. It's alright, darling – just calm down." She raised her hand in a pacifying gesture. "Jay, calm down, he's not worth it, believe me."

"So Kalivas _is_ dealing to him. It's definitely drugs, not Dolmas."

"Yes… yeah. Of course I will… no, it doesn't matter. You just sit tight and I'll come and get you... okay, wait outside then but make sure you stand in a well lit area."

"You're not in any trouble?" Dempsey was concerned by the lack of information she was conveying.

"Of course not. I'll ring you when I'm nearly there. And don't worry, sweetheart, okay? See you soon… bye."

Harry picked up her bag as she ended the call and turning to Sam, made an agonised face as she apologised.

"Oh Sam, I'm so sorry. It's Jay. She's having a terrible time with David at the moment… her boyfriend

"Harry!" he cried. "She's a grown woman. Can't she sort it out herself?"

"She's my daughter," Harry answered curtly.

"Yeah, I know… I know that," he placated, "I'm sorry, really. It's just that… well, I organised this for us and I thought everything was going to be perfect and now…"

Harry tucked her bag under her arm and said testily, "And now Jay's spoilt it – is that what you mean?"

"No, I don't mean it like that." He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated and Harry took pity.

"Please don't think I don't appreciate all this; it's just that we can come back to this another time – my daughter needs me now."

She stood close to him; held her hand to the side of his face. "Okay?"

Sam nodded, sighing morosely. "I'll think about you when I'm lying in that big, cold, empty bed tonight."

She gave him a lopsided smile. "Cold? Hardly; we're in the middle of a heat wave."

"I'll be cold all the same."

Funny really, how sometimes he could say the right thing, look good, smell nice and yet, he just didn't do it for her any longer. He was tarnished; corrupted by the murky underbelly of the fashion industry and hand in glove with the man who had adulterated her life so long ago. And if she was honest, although she found him attractive, hadn't a part of her reason for going out with him been a reaction to Dempsey's return - an impediment to stave off The Dempsey Effect?

"I'll call you in the morning," she told him. "I promise."

And she would, because she had to. It was out of her hands now Chas Jarvis had been told of her suspicions. She would have to relay her discovery to him and let him take whatever steps he deemed necessary. She wasn't looking forward to tomorrow one little bit.

…..

At quarter past midnight, Harry was safely ensconced in the back of a taxi and once again on her mobile phone. Dempsey picked up on the second ring.

"He's using coke to secure the models he needs through Karen Hammond. He terms it, 'currency' within the industry," she stated flatly.

"Whoa!" said Dempsey. "That's, ah…"

She heard him blow out softly.

"… that's a real bummer, huh?"

She knew there was no sarcasm intended although she still felt the need to give a steely response.

"I'll take your word for it, James."

"No, really," he said quietly, "I'm sorry. I mean, I suspected but… he just came out with it?"

"I said my _friend_, Andy and I had been talking and his name cropped up. He told me all about it with only a minor amount of persuasion.

Harry flopped back against the seat. "He trusts me," she sighed despondently.

"Hey, who wouldn't?" he said gently. "I'd of spilled my guts, Princess, no doubt about it."

"Are you being _nice_ to me, Dempsey or am I waiting for a punchline?"

"No, I'm bein' nice to you," he objected before adding, "although I do seem to recall 'a night of passion' was mentioned at some point."

"Ah yes. I was in a room in the One Aldwych hotel when you _eventually _got around to calling. Sam had booked us in for the night – as a surprise."

"A surprise? Sounds… awkward."

"Yeees," she drawled, "you could say that. I couldn't afford to end it with him tonight, not until Chas has managed to set something up."

"And the phone call was a tactical diversion," he filled in.

"Executed with only moments to spare, I should point out."

"Sorry 'bout that – I lost count and had to start over."

It took a second for Harry to realise what he meant but when she recalled their 'knicker-throwing' conversation, she just smiled and said, "I'll speak to you tomorrow, after I've given Chas the information. I suppose there'll be some sort of 'bust' which'll be rather unpleasant…"

"They'll probably cut him a deal in return for Kalivas. You've maybe done him a favour, Harry – he'd of got caught out somewhere down the line and woulda lost everything. At least this way he stands a chance of stayin' afloat."

Harry gazed out of the taxi window, hardly aware of the bright lights and throngs of people strolling the London streets.

"Doesn't make me feel any less treacherous, I can assure you."

"Treacherous! Sounds like you got off light, Princess. If you'd had time to get a little more into this guy, you could be feelin' a whole lot worse than treacherous."

He was right, she realised and she also realised that it was Dempsey himself who had so effortlessly and unintentionally hindered the progression of her relationship with Sam.

Harry smiled broadly.

"I do believe you're right, James."


	54. Chapter 54

Chapter 54

It turned out to be even more excruciating than she had imagined.

The 'sting' was arranged for twelve-thirty the following day. Harry had suggested when she rang Sam in the morning that they go to lunch so when he had insisted on picking her up, she had had to allude to the idea of a little 'afternoon delight' in order to ensure the team access to his house. This she had done in a corner of an open-plan office within the Hammersmith building, in front of Chas, two members of his department and Dempsey.

...

The wine hit Harry's stomach and seemed to bounce right up into her head. She immediately sat up straight, steeling herself against the leaching effects. She hadn't been able to eat anything at breakfast and now, sitting here in Sam's lounge, she felt quite nauseous.

He was telling her about a business trip to Manchester he was going on next week; something about a meeting with a manufacturer and would she maybe like to join him?

"I thought you could do the retail therapy thing and we could meet up later on for a bit of sight-seeing and then dinner."

"Sam…"

He heard the urgency in her voice and stopped, waiting expectantly for an explanation.

Coolly, she checked the time before meeting his eyes levelly.

"Five minutes from now, you're going to get a visit from three men in an unmarked police vehicle and I need you to stay calm and listen to what I've got to say."

Sam paled visibly.

"What?"

He put down his glass of wine, sloshing some over the side in the process.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

He started towards her but pulled up short, a half smile trembling on his lips.

"You're having me on."

"A few years ago…" she began, "well, more than a few actually…" She sighed, elbows resting on her knees with her head in her hands for a moment. "Sam, I used to work for a special investigations division of the police force…"

"You're police?" he balked.

He was actually shaking.

"Shit! You've set me up, haven't you? You bitch! The whole thing's been a set-up, hasn't it?"

Harry jumped to her feet.

"No! Not at all. Far from it, in fact. It was all real until I found out about Andor Kalivas."

Sam shook his head slowly. "Ah, no. No. You're not doing this… you can't… Kalivas isn't someone you can cross…"

He turned away from her sharply, the fingers of his right hand smoothing the back of his head. "I don't believe this… I just don't believe it," he muttered. Then he swung back to face her defiantly. "So, what – you're undercover; a private detective? What exactly are you, Harry? I don't get what's going on here. Why me? What are you trying to do to me?" His voice rose in both pitch and strength with each question he threw at her.

"Sam, just listen to me a minute."

She found herself standing beside him, a pacifying hand at his shoulder.

"I'm who I said I am. I haven't been hiding anything from you. It's a long story but what it boils down to is that twenty-three years ago, Kalivas…" she quickly tried to concoct a concise illustration of the facts in her mind but came up blank, "he did me a disservice for which he was never made to pay. I was a Detective Sergeant at the time, working with a partner and indirectly he managed to end both of our careers. I've got a chance to get even, Sam, and you can't possibly understand what that means to me."

He just stared, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Obviously a hell of a lot more than I do. I don't mean anything to you, do I?"

"That isn't true."

She felt terrible. She could see so clearly what she had done to him; he was mortified, frightened, felt betrayed and used and she hated the way that in turn made her feel.

"You _did_ mean something… you still do but… you're not the person I thought you were, Sam… we're not on the same side… I can't accept what you're doing, you must see that. Kalivas is a criminal! And I can't deny that for me, it's about revenge. He scarred me and I need him to pay, it's that simple."

"And I was a stepping stone – a means to an end."

"It didn't start out that way…"

"How did you find out?" he interrupted.

She'd been expecting this and was prepared.

"I still know people in the force. They've had him under surveillance for months, just waiting for him to slip up and when they saw Kalivas's connection with you and realised who I was, they knew they had a way to get to him through me."

Dempsey had to be kept out of it. Sam could prosecute for gaining admittance under false pretences, invasion of privacy and a dozen other offences that Chas might not be able to sweep under the carpet.

He smiled rigidly. "Well, I hope it's made you very happy."

Was this making her happy? Not yet maybe but eventually. Soon she would garner a sense of satisfaction and closure from all of this.

Suddenly, he made a grab for her, yanking her towards him by her upper arms.

"Have you got any idea what you've done, Harry? Have you got an inkling? I've worked all my life to get this far and you're pulling the plug on it all."

Harry tried to pull away but he was gripping her with considerable force.

"If you cooperate, they'll take it easy on you, I promise," she told him. "It's Kalivas they want, not you. Work with them, Sam."

She tried to stay placid, ignoring the stiff fingers gnawing into her flesh. He was understandably distraught.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" His eyes were bright with fury. "I'm sitting on enough cocaine to lift the spirits of the dead and you're telling me everything will be fine?"

The gate intercom sounded and they both froze. Brittle, icy seconds ticked by before Harry finally said, "You have to answer it."

The buzzing came again but more insistent this time.

Sam was breathing heavily and she could see beads of perspiration standing out on his forehead.

"If you don't answer, they'll send for back-up and it'll be assumed that you're not prepared to cooperate."

How she was managing to stay so calm, she had no idea. He was hurting her arms where his hands still held her and his stare was relentless but she refused to show any fear.

"I'm going to lose the company, aren't I?" he rasped. "I'm gonna lose everything because of you."

He almost knocked her off her feet as he threw her away from him and she cried out in anguish.

Following him out into the hall, she stood watching as he released the entrance gates and finally opened the door to his fate.

...

Chas Jarvis had wanted to handle this case himself. By rights, even a catch as big as Andor Kalivas was no longer his jurisdiction but he had felt something of an obligation to oversee the operation personally. Chas had advised Harry to leave once he and his men had gained access to the premises and this she did with mixed feelings. Part of her was glad to be absolved of any more emotional torment but another part of her, one that she had thought long gone, was eager to hear about the set-up Kalivas had in place and the way it was run; wanted to know how Jarvis planned on bringing him down and she harboured a desire to be a part of that process.

She was trembling as she pulled out onto the main road and it took her a moment to notice the black BMW flashing its lights behind her.

When it finally dawned that it was Dempsey attempting to draw her attention, she signalled to turn into a side road and parked up to sit and wait for him to follow suit.

Slamming the car door, Dempsey took a fortifying breath, unsure of what attitude he should be adopting with Harry. He knew she'd been nervous this morning and he also knew she was a little embarrassed but other than that, she was playing her cards pretty close to her chest. She felt something for the guy; that much was obvious although Thursday night when she had shared Dempsey's bed had marked a distinct upturn in their newly regained friendship. Hopefully Sam Tate was going to fade from view pretty rapidly; if not, Dempsey wasn't quite sure how he was going to handle it. But no, he was almost certain Harry wanted out; her urgent flight from the hotel last night had said as much.

All this was running through his mind as he approached her car. It had been his intention to get in the passenger seat but Harry got out and walked around to the front.

"What is it, Dempsey?" she asked, curtly.

That surprised him though he didn't react.

"So how did it go?"

"As planned."

Dempsey nodded. "'kay. How'd he take it?"

"As expected."

She was tense to the point of snapping wide open.

"And how are you?" He watched her staring fixedly at a lamp post to the side of them.

"As you'd imagine."

"I don't know what I imagine, Harry so you gotta help me out here. If you wanna be left alone, that's cool… just thought it might feel kind of strange, drivin' away from an intense situation like that by yourself."

She looked at him properly then, biting her lip and he knew he was right.

"I, erm…" she started, "I'm probably not the best of company right now."

"Tough, huh?"

Harry attempted a smile, looking down at the car keys she was playing with in her hand. "Certainly wasn't pleasant."

"Hey, you'll bounce back, Tiger."

He reached out to briefly rub her arm but she backed up with a sharp intake of breath.

For a split second, Dempsey was confused, uncertain as to why she was rejecting him, afraid he'd misread her feelings but then the expression on her face quickly registered with him.

"What? You okay? You hurt"

He moved to her side, squinting at the marks he'd spotted on her arm.

"What is this?" he asked, pushing up the short sleeve of her top. "He do this to you?" he demanded to know.

Purplish red marks stood out lividly over her skin, clearly the impression left by aggressive hands.

Harry looked down and then checked her other arm which bore the same bruising.

"He got rather upset," she admitted.

"Upset?" Dempsey growled, "I'll show him upset."

She raised her hands. "It doesn't matter. Just forget it, I intend to. It's down to Chas and his team now – let them handle it."

"Yeah, well, I'd like to handle him first, I'd like to take one o' those poncey shirts o' his and stuff it right up…"

"Thank you, Dempsey," Harry sighed, "but that really won't be necessary."

He backed off, passing a hand across his mouth, distractedly. "That shouldn't of happened," he mumbled.

His reaction suddenly seemed to strike Harry as quite amusing.

"It's just a few bruises," she smiled, indulgently. "Have you forgotten how many times we got sliced and diced in the old days? I've still got a few scars, as I'm sure have you."

"This ain't the old days. You're a civilian and that's assault."

She crossed her arms and gave him 'the look'.

"Okay, okay, I get it," he conceded, "you're a big girl, you can take care of yourself – butt out, Dempsey – just like the old days."

Laughing silently, she told him, "You'd be surprised."

"How's that?"

"There was a time when I let myself be 'taken care of'. It's what killed my marriage to Philip really. I'd let him look after me you see and when I didn't need taking care of any longer, I just let it carry on because it made him happy. It was stupid of me though because I felt completely smothered in the end and I resented him for it"

Harry saw the bemused look on Dempsey's face and had to laugh. "Yes, I know, hard to imagine me as the needy little woman but I was, once."

"Can't imagine you ever 'needing' to be taken care of somehow. You were always a tough cookie, Makepeace."

Her eyes held his mischievously. "Oh, make no mistake, I still am… Dempsey."

The low timbre of her voice gave him goosebumps.

"Glad to hear it," he answered quietly, smiling into those large blue eyes that were every bit as bright as they ever were.

He decided to jump in with both feet whilst he had her undivided attention.

"Can I take you out tonight?"

Harry's answer was succinct. "No."

So he shrugged to cover his disappointment. "Kinda short notice." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Like you wouldn't have somethin' planned on a Saturday night, huh?"

"I'm out with Angela. We arranged it last week," she added as though to confirm it was an unbreakable arrangement. "Anyway, I'd have thought you'd be needed at the bar tonight."

"I could've got cover."

To Dempsey's chagrin, she turned and walked back to the driver's side of the car.

"We'll see you later then," she said over her shoulder. "I've promised Angela a night out in Kingston and I can't let her down now can I?"


	55. Chapter 55

_Chapter 55_

_Dufus wailed plaintively, unable to understand why Harry was failing to fulfil her duty to provide him with the meat and saucer of warm milk he had become accustomed to each morning. He tried going beneath the table and rubbing against her legs but that brought no response. Eventually he decided there was nothing else for it but to make the forbidden leap onto the kitchen table._

_Jumping up from the opposite side, Dufus hesitated, expecting a sharp word of warning so the silence he received spurred him forward. He meowed tentatively and waited. She appeared to have a hot drink of her own but didn't seem bothered with it. He sniffed at the hand that was cupped around the mug and pushed his head against it. _

_Why had she lost interest in him?_

_He got closer, placing his front paws on her arm and licked her cold face. It was wet and tasted of salt again._

_Harry came to, dragged from her internal world by the cats' rough, insistent tongue._

"_Sorry, Dufus," she whispered, touched by the animal's seeming concern. "I've been ignoring you, haven't I?"_

_She got up stiffly, carefully dabbing at her face with the tissue she extracted from the sleeve of her jumper. She couldn't bring herself to stroke him; he was too soft and sweet, too loving and affectionate – she couldn't stand to be driven into feeling any more emotion._

_As Harry took a tin of cat food from the cupboard, Dufus meowed again and lifted himself up on his hind legs, pawing the air engagingly – his party piece._

**'You hungry, Twinkletoes, huh?'**

_The sound of Dempsey's voice in her head brought forth a fresh stream of tears. James was quite silly with Dufus sometimes; talked to him like he understood every word he said, cuddled him like a baby, called him 'little guy'…_

_Harry put the dish on the floor for him._

"_Time for work, Dufus."_

_..._

_She hadn't ever noticed before just how grey it was around the SI-10 building. Grey streets; grey brick walls, grey pavements. Had it always felt so depressing? But then, it was the end of October – a grey month._

_She climbed the stairs as she had a thousand times before but this time it was almost as if she was watching herself do it – like an out-of-body experience. Was that because she felt so empty now, so drained of feeling? But God, it felt good to feel nothing. Coming into work was like sliding peacefully into limbo – a place where she didn't have to be Harry and Sergeant Makepeace could take charge. She would don the mantle of control, complete with neutral expression and air of authority and nobody would ever dream that over the last forty-eight hours, a piece of her soul had shrivelled and died._

"_Morning Harry."_

_Frank caught up with her on the staircase. "Good weekend?"_

"_Fine, thanks. And you?" she responded automatically._

"_Got roped in to going ice-skating with Pauline and some mates, would you believe? Fell on me arse that many times, it hardly seemed worth gettin' up in the end," he chirped._

"_Ooh, sounds like fun," she grimaced, playfully._

"_Yeah. Won't be bothering again, I can tell you. You get up to anything exciting?"_

'**I said goodbye'**

"_Oh, you know, bit of a heavy night, Friday…"_

'… **tracking James down…'**

"_Shopping Saturday…"_

'… **round the corner for a pint of milk…'**

"… _and another boozy night…"_

'… **drinking myself into oblivion…'**

"… _and recovering on Sunday."_

_She couldn't imagine ever recovering, not ever getting through this._

"_Raring to go then, are we?"_

_She winked as she pushed open the SI-10 office door._

"_You know me, Frank."_

_He wasn't in yet. Not that she'd expected him to be really. There was no rush – not when you were only coming in to hand in your notice._

_She hung up her coat after dropping her handbag below her desk and then fetched herself a coffee – like a normal day._

_Numbly, she began thumbing through a wallet full of surveillance photographs that had landed on her desk since Friday morning. More grey buildings, flat roofed factories like barracks sprawled across a grey, windswept industrial estate. She'd forgotten what it was she was supposed to be looking at. Oh, yes, the cream coloured Toyota, the brown Vauxhall Estate, the thugs in their suits, the warehouse drop-off. _

_Why was she doing this?_

"_Sergeant Makepeace," boomed the voice of Chief Superintendent Spikings, "my office, if you please."_

_She crammed the photos back inside the wallet and traipsed into his office on auto-pilot, still not feeling completely switched on and her brain nestled in cotton wool._

"_Sir?"_

_He eyed her silently for a moment, the muscles in his left cheek bunching visibly._

"_You alright, girl?"_

"_Yes, Sir," she answered in a non-committal tone._

_Was she really so transparent? She'd been so sure that the heavier than usual application of make-up was enough to disguise the paleness of her skin and the dark circles under her eyes. What was it he saw that exposed her vulnerability?_

_Suddenly, Spikings got up and went to shut the office door. He then motioned her into a chair before seating himself on a corner of his desk._

"_Look – Harry…"_

_He passed a tentative hand across the top of his close-cropped silvery grey hair._

"_I'm not going to give you the 'I told you so' speech," then muttered, "although, God knows I'd be well within my rights."_

_Harry listened in a daze. What was he talking about?_

"_And I can't see a bollocking really doing either of us much good…"_

_What was she supposed to have done?_

"_So as far as the job is concerned, I think the thing to do is to draw a line under this and start afresh. You've obviously got leave coming up next month…" he coughed to conceal his embarrassment, "and I think it might be… erm… opportune, shall we say, to arrange for the recruitment of a new partner to coincide with your return."_

_She wondered if she looked as thunderstruck as she felt._

"_I didn't think…" she started. "You know already?"_

_He couldn't hide his surprise. "He gave me his resignation an hour ago!"_

"_Oh," was all she could manage._

"_Told him I'd be in touch with New York as soon as they pulled the shutters up." He looked at his office clock. "It's only four a.m. over there."_

"_He's being transferred back?" She couldn't stop herself from asking._

_He hadn't said. Why hadn't he told her? When she'd asked where he would go, he'd simply shrugged, saying he didn't know. He'd clearly made his mind up over Sunday. He was going - he was going home._

"_You mean he hasn't told you?" Spikings asked, disgust ringing clear in his voice. He shook his head in disbelief. "Quite what you ever saw in that arrogant bastard, Sergeant, I shall never know."_

_Past tense. It was past tense now, wasn't it._

"_I can only apologise, Sir," she said quietly, "for the way I've let my personal life encroach on the job recently. I realise it's very unprofessional and obviously, it won't be happening again."_

_She was talking to his right foot that hung in the air, his left leg bracing him up against the desk where he was perched. He always wore well- polished shoes – a hangover from his early army career no doubt. Traditional brogues, sturdy and dependable. Her father had always told her to 'be aware' of a man's shoes. She pictured Dempsey's shoes sitting by her hearth; serviceable shoes suitable for the job, in need of a clean, more often than not, never mind a polish. But then there were the shoes he wore on nights out; fashionably smart and carefully chosen. Occasionally, when the need arose, the black dress shoes, polished so meticulously that you could see your reflection in them. If you could read a man's character by his shoes, what did Dempsey's say about his?_

"_If you need a couple of days…"_

"_That's quite alright, Sir, I certainly won't be taking any time off."_

_Harry stood abruptly. "Well, unless there's anything you need to discuss regarding work, Sir, I think I've taken up more than enough of your time with my personal problems."_

_She smiled but it was a mere spasm of her mouth that held no emotion._

_Spikings knew he had to let her go; it would be cruel to keep her caged in his office any longer._

"_Before you go…"_

_He went around to the other side of his desk and opened the deep bottom drawer._

"_He asked me to give you this."_

_Spikings handed over a large manilla envelope, shaking it as he did so to indicate the contents. "Keys," he told her._

_Harry snatched if off him. _

"_Thank you very much, Sir."_

_She'd given him his keys back when she left on Saturday. It had been a last minute thing as they said goodbye at the door. He'd promised to return her keys to her today but she hadn't expected them to be handed back in an envelope by a third party. She had pictured it, their eyes meeting, their fingers touching, nobody around them realising the enormous import of the transaction._

_The envelope sat on her desk for the rest of the day and at home time she stuffed it into her handbag. Back at Camberwell Grove, her bag remained on the kitchen table for the evening, the envelope protruding from the opening._

_After finding she had been staring vacantly at the television for the last half hour without being aware of what she was seeing, she decided she might as well go to bed. Taking her empty coffee cup through to the kitchen, she spied the envelope again. It had to be done – she needed to put those keys away somewhere. It was only a spare set of keys, nothing sentimental; nothing that could hurt her._

_Dufus rubbed against her legs as she tore open the flap and reached inside. Her fingers slid over a sheet of paper and her heart stopped instantly. He'd written her a note and she hadn't realised until now. But it wasn't a note, it was a fully-fledged letter; a proper letter that started with, Dear Harry._

_For a moment, she didn't think she wanted to read that curiously random mixture of upper and lower case lettering that was his handwriting but before she knew it, she was sitting at the table, the paper held before her like a hymn sheet._

Dear Harry,

I've decided that going back to The States is my only real option. It makes sense to put some distance between us because I know that if I stayed over here, the temptation to see you would be too great. It's five a.m. and all I want right now is to hold you in my arms and I guess that isn't helping anybody. At least if I go, I know you'll be safe from McKintyre. The thought of him having you as a stick to beat me with has been eating me up. How could I have been so stupid? I should never have put you in that position in the first place and for that, I am truly sorry.

_Harry bit into the knuckle of her forefinger as the tears began to well again. The peaceful emptiness she had managed to maintain all day was gone and once again she felt herself being saturated with emotion._

I want you to know that I've never loved anyone like I love you and I don't suppose I ever will. That's the God's honest truth. I wanted so much for us to be a normal couple but I see now that for a hundred different reasons, that was never going to be.

Remember back in May when we went to Brighton for the weekend and we stayed in that little place right on the sea front? I must have spent an hour just watching you sleep on that Saturday morning. The sun was streaming in through the window and your hair was all fanned out on the pillow like a halo. I could hear the sea and the seagulls and I remember thinking it was like I'd died and gone to heaven and I'd been given an angel to spend the rest of my days with. That seems like a lifetime ago now.

_Oh, she remembered that weekend alright. She had walked about The Lanes, floating on air, her heart bursting with the joy of being with him. She had held his hand as they strolled along the pebbled seashore together and wished that it would never end. She had known pure happiness, the like of which is rarely granted to anyone after childhood has passed. How could that happiness be turned now into something so painful?_

Maybe it was too perfect sometimes. When it was that good, it made going back to reality pretty hard to swallow. You know that's what I couldn't deal with, Harry. I couldn't cope with what 'our' reality was and always would be.

I guess what I want to say is that I've finally accepted in my mind that we're from different worlds. If it had been just a fling, it would have been easy – wham, bam and thank you ma'am, no harm done. But I'd got to know you and had time to fall in love with you and I didn't know how to back out of something like that even if I'd wanted to. When two worlds collide, it makes one hell of a mess – that's one thing I've leant in all this and it's a nugget of wisdom I'll surely pass on to whoever is willing to listen when I'm old and grey.

If I don't see you again (although I know deep down that someday I will) have a great life. When you meet the right guy, sweetheart, you'll know because it won't hurt to love him and if nothing else, you deserve that.

You'll always be a part of my life because you'll always be in my heart and if that sounds corny and over-sentimental, then so be it. See, you always did bring out the romantic in me.

Yours forever,

James

_Dufus ran upstairs to seek sanctuary underneath her bed; the desperate noises she was making frightened him._


	56. Chapter 56

Chapter 56

"Well, I definitely would," Angela said with conviction.

Harry turned away from her view of the empty stage. "Would what?" she asked, innocently.

"Bed him of course," her friend admonished her naivety. "He's still bloody gorgeous!"

"Angela!"

"Angela nothing. And you're telling me you spent the night with him and nothing happened?"

Harry leaned in closer and 'shushed' her, grinning.

But Angela was undeterred.

"You either have incredible willpower or you've totally lost the plot," she hissed loudly.

"I'm fully aware of the plot, thank you, hence the incredible willpower."

"Ah!" Angela pounced on that little morsel. "So you do want to then?"

"Knock it off or we're leaving," Harry threatened calmly.

But Angela persisted, "You do, don't you?"

"Whether I do or not is irrelevant at the moment isn't it."

The smile dimmed a little. "When are you going to tell him, Harry?"

Harry's fingers moved to her throat, playing with the turquoise and silver beads there. "Soon."

"And how soon is soon?"

"I don't know… soon," she told her, exasperated, "after I've got Rosie Jarvis' party out of the way next week."

"You can't keep putting it off you know, darling."

"I've just said, haven't I? After the party," Harry replied, testily.

Angela eyed her coolly. "The longer you leave it, the harder it's going to be, Aitch – it doesn't matter whether you've slept with him or not."

Harry realised that. She already felt too close to him to be able to stomach rejection and she was fully aware that his desire to rekindle their relationship was pulling her inexorably towards potential disaster.

"Anyway," Angela whispered, "look happy – he's on his way back."

Dempsey was almost upon them, a tray of drinks in his hands, when inevitably, it seemed, he was waylaid by one of the tables he passed.

They watched as one occupant of the table pulled a chair out for him, urging him to join them for a few minutes. Dempsey was smiling and shaking his head, placing the tray of drinks on their table all the same while he shook hands.

A couple of minutes later, he was still there, talking animatedly and laughing with the customers.

"A girl could die of thirst around here," Angela smirked.

"He was always the sociable type," Harry had to agree.

Just then, she noticed the tall, imposing figure of Julius Bell heading in Dempsey's direction.

"Oh great, my fan club just turned up."

Following her line of vision, Angela raised her eyebrows in query. "The lovely Julius Bell, I take it?"

"Although it's quite easy to mistake him for Prince Charming, I find."

Having spoken briefly to Dempsey, Bell had picked up their tray and was suddenly upon them.

"Mrs Cavanagh," he greeted tightly as he placed her white wine spritzer in front of her.

"Mr Bell," she replied in equal measure.

"Seems like you just can't keep away from this place."

"Must be the friendly and welcoming staff who keep me coming back."

He was pouring Angela's glass of Chardonnay from the bottle when he said with smooth sarcasm, "We aim to please, ma'am."

"This is my friend, Angela Carstairs. Angela, this is the _gentleman_ I was telling you about, Julius Bell."

He reached out and shook her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Angela. Any friend of Mrs Cavanagh's would have to be a very special kind of person."

Angela had heard the story and knew about the mutual animosity between them but given the interpretation Harry had put on it, she was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"I knew Harry even before James did," she baited.

Julius frowned. "Oh yeah?"

"Harry and I have been friends for a long, long time – through thick and thin," she emphasized, "just like you and James."

"Hm," he grunted and banged Dempsey's bottled beer down on the tabletop. "Gotcha."

"Good," Angela smiled pleasantly.

Looking from one to the other, he finally allowed a small, grudging smile of his own before picking up the tray. "Have a nice evening, ladies," he said with formality.

Harry looked up in surprise, thrown by his congeniality.

"Thank you, Julius."

"So, we all getting' along here?"

Dempsey had appeared at Bell's side, an arm thrown loosely across his broad shoulders and a big grin on his face. His gaze fell on Harry, searching her expression for any tell-tale sign of grievance.

"Like a house on fire," she confirmed.

"Yeah? And that's a good thing, right?" The grin had slipped just a little.

"Relax, Dempsey," Julius told him mildly, "you don't gotta call the fire department just yet." He pulled out of Dempsey's embrace. "Catch you later, okay?"

"Hey – you not gonna join us?"

"You don't pay me to sit around drinkin' beer."

And with that, he was gone.

Angela shrugged as she picked up her glass. "Well, I think he's rather sweet."

"Sweet?" Harry and Dempsey chorused.

...

An hour later, Dempsey found himself alone with Angela whilst Harry visited the ladies. The female vocalist who had started her set forty minutes earlier had just announced an interval and the bar was now noisy with unrestrained chatter.

"So, James…"

Angela drained her glass and Dempsey immediately poured her another. Her eyes watched him flirtatiously as she held the glass by the rim, letting it hang from her fingertips.

Dempsey guessed she was feeling the effects of the alcohol.

"So, Angela…"

She'd matured reasonably well, he'd noticed – filled out some but then, she'd been a little too thin when he knew her anyway. Now she had quite a curvaceous figure that she was making the most of in a tight black dress that showed off her cleavage in a way Dempsey found hard not to acknowledge.

"Nothing you'd like to ask me?"

She dipped her head towards him.

She'd always been a flirt – she and Harry had been a nightmare when they got together sometimes – but as far as he was aware, Angela wasn't coming on to him, she was just teasing him.

"Such as?" he smiled, prepared to play along.

She took her time, sipping at her Chardonnay.

"Such as what's going on in Harriet's head." She raised her eyebrows and finally sat back.

"Okay," he began slowly, uncertain as to where she might be going with this.

"From what she's saying to me, I would imagine you must be feeling a bit… perplexed?"

Dempsey took a draught of his Bud and wiped his mouth, crushing his lips with his fingers. "You got that right."

"Never been the easiest of people to read, has she? Not one of life's _sharers_."

"So is it me?" Dempsey asked. "Am I doin' somethin' wrong? I did ask Harry that question but she kind of avoided givin' me the definitive answer I was lookin' for."

"In my opinion," _that cleavage was fast approaching again and he allowed himself a friendly peak_, "you're doing everything right, darling and it's scaring her to death."

Dempsey laughed. "Would you like to run that by me one more time?"

"She told me the other day that even after all this time, she feels 'uncomfortably comfortable' with you."

"And is that good or bad or what?"

He just wasn't getting it. Maybe it was a gender thing, afterall, women liked to talk in contrived riddles, didn't they?

Angela leaned across for the bottle of wine and topped up her glass. It was a boob job – had to be; putting on twenty pounds didn't give you bazookas like that, he reasoned.

"Well think about it. You turn up after God knows how long, you see each other a couple of times and it feels like you've hardly been apart…"

Dempsey grabbed the beer up again, leaning forward on his elbows with an unfeasibly wide grin.

"She say that?"

"No."

"Oh." The grin subsided.

"I'm obviously reading between the lines – keep up here, James. She doesn't _want_ to feel comfortable with you, is what I think."

"Right. Too much too soon. She told me she just wants to be friends for now."

His beer was finished.

Dempsey stood up, craning his neck in search of a waitress.

"Yo, Anthea!" he called out and indicated that they were in need of more drinks.

The waitress raised a hand in a half wave and nodded.

Angela pulled him towards her by his arm as he sat back down. "But you see her problem, don't you –you can understand why she's so wary?"

"Yeah, sure… no, why?"

"She's afraid it'll end in tears like last time."

"Is that what she's told you?"

"Nooo," Angela wailed, "but isn't it obvious?"

As far as he could see, there was a lot of supposition on Angela's part but then again, she was Harry's best friend and if anyone knew what she was thinking it was her. Still, it had given him food for thought.

"Anyway," Angela tapped his forearm, "what about you?"

"Me?"

He shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't expected to be drawn into vocalizing his feelings for Harry.

"I ain't gonna let her down, if that's what you mean."

"Ah, that's so sweet," Angela trilled before adding severely, "Just so long as you don't. I was there the first time, remember?" She took a large gulp of Chardonnay. "There were an awful lot of pieces to pick up afterwards."

She regarded him darkly. "More than you know."

"Care to expand on that? A little inside info might help my case."

"No, darling. Trust me – in this instance, it wouldn't."

"You're makin' me nervous here, Angela."

He smiled encouragingly. "C'mmon, spill the beans. There's a bottle of Krug in it for you," he coaxed.

"Vintage?"

"If that's what it takes."

Angela laughed. "You could strip naked and dance the Fandango with a rose between your teeth and I still wouldn't go over Harry's head."

Dempsey nodded. "That's very commendable but ahh…" he hunched forward and wiggled his eyebrows, "I do a mean Cha-Cha-Cha if it'd make a difference."

"Oh, James, don't tempt me," she smirked salaciously over the rim of her glass.

"You two look cosy," smiled Harry, slipping quietly back into her seat. "Have I missed something?"


	57. Chapter 57

Chapter 57

Dempsey was a little drunk – but only a little, which was a shame because he would've enjoyed tying one on with the two of them but with Harry driving her and Angela home, he'd felt a certain constraint was in order.

"It looks like we're off then, said Angela with a pout. "Harry seems to be champing at the bit."

"I'm doing no such thing," Harry defended herself although it was true she had made the decision to go after the singer had finished her set. Angela was making her nervous.

"You'd better give me the car keys then" said Angela, holding her hand out.

"Whatever for?"

"Because after I've said goodnight to James here, I'm going to pop to the ladies and then I'm going to go and wait in the car whilst you say goodnight to him too."

Harry opened her mouth to retort but decided that any response was likely to bring forth an even more embarrassing re-joiner.

"Come here, you," Angela told James, putting her hands on his shoulders and reaching up to kiss him soundly. "Lovely evening but next time, I intend to see you up there on the stage."

"You sure 'bout that? Think it was a little more than Harry could stomach."

Wagging her finger at him, Harry protested, "Now I never said that, did I?"

"You didn't have to, Tiger," he laughed, "that 'get me to the bathroom' expression on your face said it all."

"That simply isn't true! I was… surprised, that's all."

"Yeah, surprised like J.F.K was surprised."

"Keys!" Angela demanded, turning back to Harry. "I'm sure he's an absolute star and I shall look forward to hearing him sing."

"And play the guitar," Dempsey added for Harry's benefit.

Harry looked amused. "Well, I suppose forewarned is forearmed."

Despite her rather intoxicated condition, Angela saw the way their eyes locked together, reading the tantalising challenge that had sprung up between them and decided it was the right moment to depart.

"I'll leave you to it then."

As Angela sashayed out of the bar, Harry rolled her eyes in Dempsey's direction.

"That was Angela being tactful."

They were standing together at the archway that opened out into the bar.

"Even more 'tactful' than I remember her."

"Sorry," Harry winced, "she's one of those people who has a tendency to see the world in black and white."

"Nothin' wrong with that, sometimes," he replied, carefully, "just so long as you ain't wearin' rose tinted spectacles to view it."

Harry smiled her understanding, aware that he wanted her to know he was treading lightly.

"I'm glad you both came tonight; it was great to see her again… and you," he added.

"It's been a good night – I've enjoyed it. Thank you," she said softly.

For a few seconds, neither one of them spoke. It was a comfortable silence that neither was even particularly conscious of as they regarded each other.

"Harry?" asked Dempsey at length. "Think there's somethin' I should ask you… might save us some embarrassment later."

Harry looked at him warily. "What?"

"If I was to kiss you right now, would you be likely to object?"

"I think I probably would."

He came out with a rather downcast, "Oh."

"Of course," she continued plumily, her lip hitching in that irresistible way, "it isn't really the sort of question one can give a definitive answer to."

There was that word again. Seemed to sum up their relationship right now – indefinable.

He felt a smile forming. "No?"

"No."

"You mean, you'd maybe have to try it on for size?"

"Bearing in mind the fact that we're in a public place."

Her smile now matched his.

When his hands circled about her narrow waist, he felt her intake of breath and gently, he manoeuvred her back a couple of steps into the corner between the brick archway and the wall. There, he put a small, chaste kiss to her lips.

"You think anyone woulda noticed that?" he asked quietly.

"I doubt it," she smirked, "I barely did."

He pressed his forehead against hers, chuckling.

"You gettin' fresh with me, lady?"

Harry brought her hands up to either side of his face. "I think you should try again. I know you can do better."

"I'm willing to give it another shot if it'll make you happy."

Their lips came together again but this time Dempsey wasn't afraid to push it further, briefly teasing his tongue against her teeth, eliciting a tiny murmur of pleasure from her.

They drew apart but Harry still held her hands to his cheeks, smiling.

"It did," she said.

"It did?" he repeated, puzzled.

Harry slid a thumb over his lower lip, watching the action before lifting her eyes up to meet his. "Make me happy."

Dempsey's heart was racing almost painfully within his chest but it was the most wonderful discomfort he'd felt in a very long time. His hands left her waist to pull her up hard against him.

"You feel that?" he laughed.

I assume you're referring to your heartbeat," Harry whispered into his ear, her arms now looped around the back of his neck.

"Don't say things like that when you've got me where you want me," he derided. "We're in a public place, remember?"

He could feel her fingers brushing through the back of his hair and the thought suddenly came to him that to the milling blur of bodies about them, they would appear to be very much a couple. This was progress and he quietly rejoiced in it.

"Shame you have to go."

"Angela's waiting," Harry sighed though she didn't make any attempt to move.

"Her idea."

Harry grinned. "Yes, and I must remember to thank her."

"Suppose she's fallen asleep," he ventured. "You could stay a little longer."

"I'd still have to go eventually."

"Eventually is fine, it's now I have a problem with."

"Won't you be closing the bar soon anyway?" she laughed.

"That's right." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Just think of the fun we could have then."

Harry tutted, slapping his shoulder. "Dempsey, you're incorrigible!"

"And you're beautiful," he told her tenderly.

She dropped her eyes and he was delighted to see the flush that rose in her cheeks.

"Even more beautiful than I'd remembered," he persisted, grinning now.

"Dempsey," she warned, "don't push it."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'll try to imagine you with a hooked nose and facial warts or somethin'."

"Anyway," she said, moving out of his arms, "I've brought you something."

Unzipping her small evening bag, she dipped her hand in and Dempsey wondered what on earth she could have for him that would fit in there.

"I wanted to say thank you for the meal the other night…"

"Honey, that was with Kalivas; you have nothing to thank me for there," he interrupted.

"… and you bought me Dufus the Doorstop and the silver spoon," she continued, " and I knew you wouldn't let us pay tonight…"

"We're friends!" he laughed, "I ain't keepin' tabs."

"… and I just wanted you to have this."

She handed him a small, faded, navy blue linen covered box. It was obviously very old.

"What is this?" he asked with a half smile.

"I know you used to admire it."

He raised the box lid.

"This belonged to Freddie!" Dempsey exclaimed, picking up the object.

In his hand, he held a five inch long silver figural fox head, etched with fur and intertwined leaves that ran along its length. It was Frederick Winfield's treasured antique cigar cutter.

"Harry, I can't accept this," he told her bluntly, dropping it back onto its cushion, shutting the box and offering it back to her.

Harry frowned. "Why ever not?"

"Because it's an antique – a family heirloom. You should be handing it down to Ed, not givin' it to me."

"And what would Ed want with it? He doesn't smoke cigarettes, let alone cigars and unfortunately, he never even knew his grandfather."

"I can't take it. It belongs in your family."

Harry bit down on her lip and said softly, "Believe me, Freddie would've wanted you to have it, James, I know he would." She pushed his hand away.

He wanted to object; wanted to refuse this gift that not only held such sentimental value but was also of considerable monetary worth – but he recognised that determined glint in Harry's eye.

"I do believe you," he confirmed because suddenly he thought he understood why Harry wanted him to have the little trinket. Could it be she was offering him a link to a period in her life that they had shared, a time when they had been happy together? Was she was telling him their past could now be their future also?

Reaching up, Harry kissed him briefly. "Good," she smiled. "Now I've really got to go."

"This is fabulous – honestly." Dempsey held up the box containing the cigar cutter. "Every time I smoke a cigar now, I'll be thinkin' of the old boy."

"Come on – you can walk me to the car."

He put his arm around her shoulders and they passed through the archway and out through the swing doors to the parking area.

"I'll call you, okay?" he told her with measured casualness. "We'll do somethin' in the week."

"I'm busy Tuesday and I'm having dinner with some friends on Friday but other than that, I'm all yours."

He grinned – he couldn't help it. This was everything he could have hoped for; exactly what he'd wanted from the moment he'd decided it was time to find Harry again. 'I'm all yours', she'd said. Boy, was that music to his ears.

"Looks like you were right then," Harry said, bobbing her head down to peer through the driver's side window of her car.

"What's that?"

Dempsey joined her and discovered Angela asleep in the passenger seat, her head dropped forward upon her ample bosom.

Their heads turned to face each other, scant inches apart as they simultaneously broke into laughter.


	58. Chapter 58

_Chapter 58_

_It had ended in bloodshed and embarrassment – strange bedfellows._

"_You feeling any better, Harry?" Frank asked solicitously._

_Oddly, it was this gentle inquiry that finally broke past the cacophony of noise surrounding her._

_Harry jumped up; the strident wail of an approaching police vehicle, the R.T conversations, the constant bleep and crackle of walkie-talkies flooding now into her consciousness._

"_I'm fine," she snapped and then added a little more reasonably, "Much better now, thanks."_

_Twenty feet away, the body of Terry Belton was being stretchered into the back of an ambulance._

"_How's Bill doing?"_

"_No, he's okay… bit of shock I think but the guv'nors's talkin' to him now."_

_Harry nodded. "It was his first, wasn't it?"_

_The first time he'd squeezed the trigger and the recipient of the bullet had died. Taking a life was easy – it was dealing with the bullet that lodged itself into your own psyche afterwards that was the problem._

_Frank sighed. "Stiff drink down The Bramcote once the paperwork's cleared and he'll be right as rain. Probably do you the world of good an' all."_

_She didn't know what had come over her; it was crazy but when she'd gone to check on the body for vital signs, the sight of the blood and the smell… the smell more than anything had made her physically sick. She had had to back away, bending over from the waist to spew up the apple and half a cheese sandwich she had eaten for lunch._

_Embarrassingly, she could still see the evidence of her debility. When the forensics team had arrived on the scene, she had watched them noting it down, discussing its presence with her fellow officers. Everyone knew about her moment of weakness and she would be the butt of their jokes for days to come._

_Harry surreptitiously wiped her mouth and after taking a deep, mental breath, followed Frank back to the milieu._

"_Ah," she heard Chief Superintendent Spikings saying, "here's Sergeant Makepeace now."_

_He turned to her, disdain clearly etched upon his face. "I'm hoping you're sufficiently recovered to answer some questions from the boys in blue."_

"_Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir."_

_Spikings smirked. "You look like death warmed over, Sergeant."_

"_Thank you, Sir," she answered politely before turning to a very tall and very young uniformed police officer._

_Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the spattering of dark red blood over the door of Belton's cream Toyota and her mind recreated the bilious, metallic smell in her nostrils again._

"_Can we make this fast?" she asked the fresh faced copper._

…

_It was almost six-thirty by the time Harry shut the door of the locker room behind her. _

_She was so tired she could cry but then, it didn't take much these days._

_After tying her hair up, she stood under a scalding hot shower for a while, just willing the misery to wash away and wondering if she could slip away from the pub after the first drink. She wanted the oblivion that only sleep could bring – deep, dreamless sleep._

_Wrapped in a towel, Harry lifted a pile of fresh clothes out of her locker and deposited them on the length of wooden slatted bench where she proceeded to dress hurriedly. Despite the hot shower, she now felt chilled to the bone, her flesh forming goosebumps beneath the lacy thermal vest she had just donned. She pulled on her chunky beige batwing jumper, shivering._

_At least it would be warm in The Bramcote – a quick drink and then home to Dufus._

_Quickly, she put on her jeans and fastened them up. But then she stopped. The jeans had sat in her locker for over a month but now she realised they no longer fit her. Slowly, she pulled them down again – without even having to unbutton them._

_She knew she'd lost weight recently but the once skin tight jeans simply hung off her small frame._

_She went to the three quarter length mirror on the wall and gazed at herself, holding the jumper up so she could see her torso too._

_Feeling tears stinging the back of her eyes, she realised how badly she must have been neglecting herself since Dempsey left. She'd been aware of the fact she hadn't been eating properly but it didn't seem to matter somehow. And if she didn't bother to re-apply her lipstick during the day and no longer accessorised her outfits, it wasn't exactly a cause for alarm, was it?_

_But there were dark circles under her eyes and her cheek bones appeared startlingly prominent she could now see. She had let herself go, hadn't she? And the trouble was, she wasn't sure she really cared enough to do anything about it._

…

"_Harry!"_

_She swung round, her fingers grasping the handle of the outer door._

"_I hadn't realised you were still here, Sir," she replied tiredly. "Are you coming to the pub?"_

"_What happened to you out there today?" Spikings demanded._

"_I… I don't know, Sir," she stumbled, thrown by his question._

"_It was bloody unprofessional – you realise that? There were people there from half a dozen different departments, all laughing up their sleeves because a member of my team couldn't keep her lasagne and chips down."_

_His eyes bored into hers as he continued his rant. "You're SI-10, Sergeant, not a new recruit from Hendon. What you do reflects on me and I'd like you to bare that in mind next time you feel yourself having a girlie moment."_

_Harry was incensed. "I would like to point out Sir, that I didn't do it on purpose."_

"_And I suppose you're not walking around looking like something the cat dragged in on purpose either."_

_He stood fingering his moustache, watching for the effect his cutting comment might have._

_Somehow, she managed to keep her expression completely devoid of emotion as she said, "Thank you very much for your opinion, Sir. I shall certainly take that on board when I'm choosing my attire tomorrow morning."_

_A muscle twitched in Spiking's cheek._

"_You need to pull yourself together, my girl."_

_He let that sink in for a moment before he continued. _"_I refuse to stand by and watch my best officer piss her career down the drain over a broken love affair."_

_Makepeace felt a blush suffuse her cheeks._

"_With the greatest of respect, Sir, I don't see that my past is any longer the business of SI-10."_

_She expected him to blow up at that but he just carried on fixing her with that hard, penetrating stare of his._

"_Has he been in touch?"_

_The question was curt – demanding and she contemplated side-stepping the answer. He had no right to ask it._

"_No, and I don't expect him to be," she told him in an oh-so-calm fashion._

"_Then you're going to have to sort this out for yourself, aren't you?"_

_Harry folded her arms across her chest. "It's sorted."_

"_Then act like it!" he told her gruffly._

_For a moment, she eyeballed him defiantly, angry with him for pointing out what she knew to be the truth and even angrier with herself for her inability to conceal it._

"_I'm trying!"_

_Too shrill, too hard, too needy._

"_Maybe you should speak to him, Sergeant."_

_Why did it feel like he was poking her with a stick?_

_She shook her head adamantly. "No. And besides, I don't even have a contact number."_

_Why had she volunteered that piece of information? C__ertainly not because she wanted to appear any more pathetic than she did already. Was she really so desperate to hear his voice again?_

_Quickly, she said, "If that's all Sir, I think there's a large gin and tonic waiting for me round the corner."_

_Harry darted out through the door before he had chance to process her mistake – if indeed it was a mistake._


	59. Chapter 59

_Chapter 59_

_The following morning brought with it a dilemma. _

_Opening her desk drawer in search of a stapler, she was met with a folded sheet of thin yellow bank paper that certainly hadn't been there when she'd left the office the evening before. Opening it up, she found it bore the large, handwritten letters 'N.Y.P.D' and below them, what could only be a telephone number with an international dial code._

_She looked up, half expecting to see Spikings standing in the doorway of his office but there was no-one taking any notice of her at all. Her heart was hammering. She didn't need this – she couldn't cope with whatever that 'phone number might hold in store. And in all honesty, what would be the point? There was nothing left to say. _

_But the thought of hearing his voice… the very idea made her shiver with anticipation._

_He hadn't left her with any way of contacting him though – didn't that say something in itself? His letter, emotionally charged though it had been had also been laced with an undeniable finality. James didn't want anything more to do with her. No, that was probably putting it too strongly. He wanted a clean break – for both their sakes._

_Impulsively, she screwed the paper up and threw it back into the drawer, slamming it shut violently as though it could possibly escape again somehow._

"_You're sure you've shut that properly?" asked Chas as he passed behind her._

"_It's sticking a bit," she lied easily._

…

_She held out for three days._

_It was on the Thursday lunchtime that she finally cracked._

_Finding herself in the Putney Bridge area after a tiresomely fruitless interview with a snout named Carmel Perkins, she decided upon a brisk walk along the side of the river._

_The sky was a blank canvas, lacking in all colour and interest and a slight mist hung morosely over the water._

_When a deliciously enticing smell of hot food wafted across to her, Harry felt compelled to search out its source. To her surprise, she found it could only be coming from a hotdog vendor sited over by the railings a hundred yards further on but even so, a sharp stab of hunger motivated her into venturing closer. Bizarrely, the smell of flaccid sausages and greasy onions, rather than turning her stomach was actually making her salivate. _

_After only a moments hesitation, she ordered one – with the works!_

_She hadn't tasted anything so good in months. The unique savouriness and firm texture of the hotdog, the soft white bread and the rich fried onion contrasted perfectly with the topping of sweet tomato ketchup. But best of all was the tangy, piquant yellow mustard. _

_As she devoured the last mouthful, she accepted the psychological reasoning behind her fast food desires... Dempsey loved hotdogs. Her mind was simply playing silly games with her senses. But for the first time since he'd gone, she felt hunger and given her current skin-and-bone appearance, she realised that could only be a good thing._

_On the return walk, she ordered a second._

"_May I have extra mustard?" she asked uncertainly._

'**Gimme extra onions with that, pal'** _Dempsey would regularly say and Harry vividly remembered the last occasion when he had followed up his request with, __**'**_**Good thing she loves me, huh?'**

_Maybe the junk food wasn't exactly packed with goodness but it was better than nothing she supposed as she licked a smear of mustard from the back of her thumb. God, that tasted good. She suddenly desperately wanted to tell him about it – eating hotdogs; two – one after the other. He'd never believe it! But how would that sound – like she was clinging to the last vestiges of his memory, maybe?_

_With her stomach full, she felt a whole lot better though and she decided that a phone call, simply enquiring into how he was getting on would be more or less acceptable. Just to chat, to catch up, to know that he had got himself settled. And if he should ask her how she was… well, she could lie, couldn't she?_

…_.._

"_You seen what we got waitin' to be interviewed out there?" laughed Carl Ortega, slapping a handful of files down on a desk already laded with paperwork._

_Dempsey slid his biro behind his ear as he sat back in his swivel chair._

"_You mean the Twinkie with the thigh boots and the beer belly?" he grinned. "I'm tellin' you, I ain't even sure what that is! I mean, anyone who can get their rocks off with that has gotta be seriously…" he twizzled his finger to the side of his head in the universal gesture of insanity._

_They both glanced through the section of glass partitioning along the far wall. The prostitute of indeterminate gender was staring right back at them; frazzled bleach blonde hair and thick make-up masking the androgynous features. It was the wiry black chest hair sprouting from the push-up bra cleavage that rather gave the game away._

"_Given the choice," Ortega shuddered, "I'd go with the ol' five knuckle shuffle every time."_

"_Yeah, and I'm positive Tootsie out there would be happy to oblige for a twenty spot."_

"_Well, why don't you ask it yourself?" Ortega fixed him with a triumphant smile. "You're the new boy again around here, Dempsey – you get to filter this one through."_

_Dempsey's face fell. "Hey, c'mmon Carl, I blush real easy."_

_From over on the other side of the room, Detective Bartholomew yelled, "Jimmy!" He held up his telephone receiver. "For you. I got Queen Elizabeth on the line."_

"_My knighthood finally came through," he joked even as he assimilated Bartholomew's words. "Services to Queen and Country."_

_Ortega threw a stray paperclip at his head. "So is this some broad you were 'servicing' over there? You're a dirty dog, man!" he grinned._

_Dempsey was on his feet, making his way to Captain Gresham's private office. O'Grady had retired two years earlier and the post had gone to the quiet mannered Gresham, twenty years his junior. Dempsey hadn't yet decided whether he was up to the job or not._

"_Boss is out, right?" he threw over his shoulder as he sauntered across the room. "I'll take it in there where I ain't gonna get 'disturbed'."_

"_Says she's your old partner," Bartholomew called after him._

_Dempsey held up his hand in acknowledgement._

_And who else was it going to be?_

_He sat in the Captain's chair and watched the red light on the phone flash, summoning up the nerve to pick up the receiver. He squeezed his mouth in his fingers and then quickly grabbed it up._

"_This is Lieutenant Dempsey," he drawled casually. "What can I do for you?"_

_He clearly heard her swallow before she spoke. "James… it's Harry."_

_He didn't know how to react. He couldn't think fast enough despite the ninety seconds he'd had to get it into his head who he was about to speak to._

"_Hi."_

_Not, 'Hi Angel'… 'Hi Princess'… or even, 'Hi Harry'… just 'Hi'._

_His hand returned to his mouth and he hunched over the desk. And then a painful moment of silence that he hastily plugged with, "How you doin'?"_

"_I'm okay. I just thought I'd give you a call… find out how you're settling back down to life in The Big Apple."_

_He could hear the forced, bold joviality and the dryness in her throat. He knew she didn't want to be saying these rehearsed words any more than he wanted to be listening to them._

'**Baby, I'm dyin' here without you.'**

"_Well, you know – it's only been a couple weeks but nothing much seems to have changed. Same old faces around the office – 'cept O'Grady retired - same old dirtbags on the street."_

"_Must be nice to see your family again though."_

"_Yeah," he smiled, wanting her to hear that he appreciated her asking. "Met baby Jake for the first time – he's comin' up two years old now and Max calls me Uncle Jimmy which is kinda cute."_

"_Ahh, that's sweet," said Harry quietly._

"_They're great kids but I couldn't eat a whole one as they say – Gil and Amy have their hands full." _

"_Oh, by the way, Chas told us the other day he and Alice are expecting a baby – not until the end of July though."_

_Dempsey was delighted. "That's great news! You give 'em my best, okay?"_

"_Yes, of course I will."_

_A short span of silence again._

"_And how's your mother?" Harry asked tentatively._

"_She's okay… disappointed," he conceded._

"_She knows why… you explained everything to her didn't you?" she asked anxiously._

"_She knows."_

"_I'm sorry we never met."_

"_Yeah, me too."_

_The homecoming had been tinged with sadness. Even though he'd turned up unexpectedly, his visit brought forward by a month, after the initial rapturous greeting, his mother's first question had been, "And where's your Harry?"_

_The look on her face had made him feel as though he had just announced a death. She'd had such high hopes._

"_Movin' into my own place, Saturday," he said brightly. "Got an apartment just a few blocks away from the precinct. It ain't the most salubrious of pads but a guy my age can't be livin' with his mother – got a reputation to be…"_

_He stopped short, aware that he was flaunting his single status in her face._

"_Look," he said, "I'm sorry I left like I did – it's just that neither of us needed the heavy airport scene – all that final farewell crap…"_

"_No, it's fine, you're right," she agreed quickly. "Naturally everybody at work was rather surprised. I just said I knew you'd been thinking about it and left it like that."_

"_And everyone else?"_

"_Oh, you know, smugness abounds as you can imagine. Not that I've really spoken to anyone myself but from what Angela's said, 'what a surprise!' is the phrase of the moment. Well, as I say, you can imagine."_

"_Guess I've left you in the thick of it," he said apologetically, the words sounding excruciatingly trite to his ears._

"_I'm sure I'll cope," she laughed mechanically and Dempsey pondered those words. She didn't sound right. Throughout the whole conversation she hadn't quite sounded herself. Her voice seemed to be pitched a little higher than was normal and she sounded tired – frail even._

"_You okay, Harry?"_

_He had to ask. They'd been tip-toeing around each other since the conversation began and he couldn't keep up the façade any longer._

"_I just said, didn't I?" she asked shrilly. "I'll cope because I really don't have much of a choice."_

_Her mouth sounded dry; dehydrated by the bitter taste there. "You left, Dempsey! You left the country without saying a word, for Christ's sake!"_

"_You got the letter?"_

"_You'd already gone. You'd gone without telling me!"_

'**Don't do this angel. Don't fall apart on me when I'm not there to make it better.'**

"_You really wanted me to stand there in front of you and say goodbye? Would you've wished me bon voyage?" He paused. "I'd have ended up stayin'… and then sooner or later, somethin' bad woulda happened. Somewhere down the line, we'd have lived to regret it – if we were real lucky." He added sharply, "You know that, Harry."_

"_I miss you," she whispered. "I feel like I'm going mad without you."_

_She couldn't have done a better job if she'd stuck a knife between his ribs._

"_This ain't helpin', babe." His voice was shaking with nervous laughter._

"_I know. I know it isn't."_

_She was controlling her emotional lapse now by inserting a hard edge into her agreement. It was what she did; how she dealt with curve balls. When there was a danger of a working situation invading the margins of her personal space, Dempsey had always admired her ability to close off from it – to put up those insidious vocal barriers of self-defence. Harry could convey so much in those cool, upper class tones; cut down in swathes or build up in passion and every time, Dempsey would respond accordingly._

"_I needed to put this distance between us, Harry. It was the only way," he told her awkwardly._

_After a moment, she said with a cold superiority born of fear, "You didn't want me to ring, did you? You didn't want to ever have to speak to me again."_

"_Because it's too hard. Why put ourselves through it? What – you want us to be penpals or somethin'? he asked sarcastically. "You want us to write each other every week for the rest of our natural born? Tell me how us stayin' in touch is gonna help me forget you?"_

"_Is that what you want… to forget me?"_

_He wondered if she was genuinely as surprised as she sounded._

"_Princess, if I could pop a pill right now that would wipe out the last three years, believe me, I'd do it."_

_There had been times during the last two weeks when he'd felt so low that popping pills of a recreational variety seemed like a viable solution. There were a hundred dealers within a mile radius he knew he could score off but so far, dampening the edges with a steady stream of whiskey chasers had sufficed. Back in his youth, he had once smoked weed and it had made him sick as a dog so at the moment, thankfully, the legal route to getting high was his best option. If 'high' was what you could call it when you were falling off a bar stool at one in the morning, always the last of your colleagues to leave by a good two hours. _

_And always, when he awoke the next morning having miraculously made it back to his mother's house somehow, his first thoughts were of Harry. Maybe only when you couldn't remember what it was you wanted to forget in the first place could you say it was truly forgotten and at the moment, Dempsey was a very long way away from that place?"_

"_Don't I at least warrant 'fond memory' status then?"_

_Her laughter trembled disturbingly._

_Clutching the pen he'd removed from behind his ear, Dempsey began doodling a series of three dimensional pyramids, one inside the other, smaller and smaller on the desk blotter._

"_Is Freddie bayin' for my blood?" he asked to move it along._

"_Daddy thinks you're wonderful. You can do no wrong in his eyes, Dempsey."_

"_Does that mean I ain't gonna have the secret service or somethin' on my case?"_

"_You might want to check your new place for bugs I suppose."_

"_No need – I already know I'll be sharin' my kitchen with cockroaches."_

"_You're joking, of course," she said with concern._

"_Yeah, I'm jokin'," he lied – he'd already arranged for the fumigators to be there at 10:00am on Saturday._

_He began a new pyramid._

"_So. Spikings got you a new partner yet?"_

"_Not yet. I think he's getting me one for Christmas," she told him in a bantering tone which Dempsey was more than happy to run with._

"_Maybe you should ask if you can pick one out for yourself this time. You don't wanna wind up with a new partner in your stocking who's non-returnable."_

_He laughed but realised Harry wasn't joining in._

"_You had a narrow escape, huh?" he pushed on regardless._

_The pyramids had lost their form and degenerated into single, aggressive lines, one under the other._

"_I can't really imagine partnering anybody else now. I'm sure it'll seem quite odd for a time."_

_She was cramming too much light heartedness in to sound normal and he could tell that she was crying silently._

**Leave me alone. Please leave me alone, Harry.**

"_But you ain't gonna get nobody as odd as me, babe."_

_Still she couldn't laugh and once again, silence resulted._

"_Anyway," a shuddering breath, "I just wanted to see how you were."_

"_I'm doin' good," he told her with finality._

…

_By the time he had shut the door of Captain Gresham's office behind him, mashing a screwed up sheet of blotting paper in his hands, he knew he was back to square one._

"_Okay, Ortega," he called, "let's get your boyfriend processed and outa here and then I'm gonna let you buy me a beer or three."_

"_Only three, Dempsey? You plannin' on an early night for once?"_

_Bartholemew laughed. "Maybe he's pinin' for his English maiden."_

"_And I got you down for beers four through six, smart ass." _


	60. Chapter 60

Chapter 60

"In here, sweetheart," Harry called out on hearing the front door opening.

Ed reluctantly walked through to the living room to greet the visitor. Having noted the black BMW parked in the driveway, he knew his mother was entertaining Dempsey and would have preferred to avoid him if possible. But then, he reasoned, he wasn't going to be able to avoid him forever and unlike Jay, he wouldn't be at Rosie's party with him on Saturday night; he'd be enjoying himself at the festival with Lydia. So he did the adult thing and went straight over to shake him firmly by the hand.

"Alright, James?"

Should he be calling him 'James' or 'Dempsey', he wondered. 'Dempsey' sounded… what, disrespectful… over-familiar? He really wasn't sure. It was what Mum often referred to him as but still, 'James' sounded more normal for now.

"I'm doin' good," the American smiled warmly. "It's good to see you again."

"Least I know who you are this time."

Did that sound accusing? Maybe so because James looked a little sheepish when he said, "Guess I kinda chickened out before. I was real nervous about seein' your Mom."

"That I can understand," Ed agreed with a sly half-grin.

"Hey, hey, enough of that thank you." Harry stood watching them, hands on her hips in the middle of the room.

The two men laughed.

"Do you want anything to drink, Eddie?"

'Eddie!' She was in a good mood. Come to think of it, she'd been calling him 'Eddie' quite a bit recently, on and off.

"I've made a pot of coffee?" she offered.

"I'll get it. Anyone for a refill?"

They both declined and Ed went to the kitchen to get a cup for himself.

The way they were both dressed seemed to indicate they were off out again tonight. From what he'd gathered, she was with him all the time lately and to his mind, it was disconcerting. He'd cleared off back to America hadn't he? Just left her to pick up the pieces all those years ago and she was acting like none of that mattered. Well, maybe it didn't – not to her. But she was making a fool of herself and the rest of the family by having him round here. And had she 'had him' round here, he wondered. Were they at it when he wasn't about? God, she was practically bed-hopping; Sam Tate and now him.

He went back to the living room and found them standing close together at the opened window. His mother had a mug in her right hand and with her left she was adjusting the collar of his shirt. And they were looking at each other sort of… intensely.

"Going out then?" he asked loudly with the clear intention of shattering the moment but she turned to him languidly, a gentle smile lighting her face and it was a second before Dempsey even looked away.

"The Rococoa Comedy Club," she declared. "Eden Street."

"Yeah, I've heard of it – meant to be good."

Dempsey nodded. "One of the guys at the bar recommended it… said it was a great night out. You're more than welcome…"

Ed shook his head. "Nah. Wouldn't want to cramp your style."

"I ain't got no style to be cramped."

"Sure you won't come?" Harry asked.

"Sure." He drank his coffee.

"Your Mom tells me you're gonna be a veterinary surgeon."

"That's the aim, yeah."

They chatted for the next quarter of an hour and Ed found he was remarkably easy to talk to. He certainly had some cool stories to tell as well. It was hard not to like him, unfortunately. He was just so different from her usual type (if usual was the word to describe the two or three guys she'd dated regularly since the divorce) and he was absolutely nothing like Dad at all.

Eventually, Harry checked her watch and said with an enquiring wrinkle of her nose, "D'you think we should be going? It's twenty past."

"Depends who's doin' the drivin'," he grinned. "If it's you, we got a good ten minutes to spare."

"Meaning?" she asked with mock indignation.

"Meaning, it ain't me who can't keep to the speed limit."

"Rubbish!" she exploded. "I never drive too fast."

"Actually, you do, Mum," Ed heard himself saying. "Remember that speeding ticket you got last year?"

She shot him a daggered look. "Thanks Ed! And anyway…" her wrath reverted to Dempsey, "I don't drive any faster than you, it's just that you take longer to get where you're supposed to be going because of all your so-called short cuts!"

Dempsey thumbed the side of his mouth, just getting into his stride.

"Now, see, there you go again, Princess, talkin' outa your proverbial."

'Princess'! What was that all about? Was it some dig at her title?

"I went on an advanced police driver's course, Lieutenant," she told him haughtily, a finger wagging in his face. He caught it up in his fist, captured in mid-air.

"I didn't need to, Sergeant."

They eyeballed each other and Ed saw what he'd thought was mutual antagonism melt into infantile smirking. They were acting weird – all the police rank stuff was just… weird!

And then in one fluid movement, Dempsey pulled her hand down towards him and delving into his trouser pocket, pressed his car key fob into her palm.

"Let's compromise – you drive my car."

She tossed her head dismissively. "Fine."

"If you think you'll be able to handle it…"

"I'm sorry, was that an attempt at humour?"

Ed laughed. "Think it was a red rag to a bull, actually."

"I do believe you're right, Edward," said Harry as she looked directly into Dempsey's eyes.

Dangling the fob in front of him momentarily, Harry snatched it back with a snippy but amused, "Shall we?"

"We shall," Dempsey replied, devilishly.

He then turned to Ed. "Shame you ain't gonna be at this party, Saturday – got a feelin' I'm gonna need someone in my corner."

'And you thought that would've been me?' Ed marvelled to himself. But then, he realised, he had sort of been siding with him… in a subconscious kind of way.

…

"I want to see him first."

"What's the point?" Ed asked, not understanding his sister's reasoning.

She pulled a face. "Don't know really. I suppose I just don't want it to be a shock when I meet him on Saturday."

She flicked the business card Dempsey had left with Harry repeatedly against her left thumbnail.

"Hope you're not expecting me to go with you." he grumbled.

"Hardly, you've already met him, he knows who you are."

Jay regarded him apprehensively before asking, "D'you think Lyd would come with me?"

Ed rolled his eyes.

"She knows the situation," Jay said hurriedly, "and she's sort of impartial, isn't she?"

"Ask her if you want," Ed replied non-commitally. "When d'you want to go?"

"I was thinking tomorrow night - Friday. Mum's seeing Christine and Penny so there's a good chance he'll be at this bar of his. We wouldn't have to stay for long… you could pick us up afterwards."

"Thanks! Like I'm gonna want to drive you all the way home."

"Well, just drop me off at Kingston Station then and I'll get the train," huffed Jay.

Picking up the TV remote, she began aimlessly flicking through the channels. "Just thought it'd make things easier if you were planning on going out with Lydia after but I don't want you doing me any bloody favours."

She was riled. He must know what a big deal this was and yet he was acting like it was nothing.

When she'd turned up unexpectedly after her shift, she had been disappointed to learn that Harry had gone out already. Not knowing whether she had plans for tonight or not, she'd hoped to have a quick natter over a coffee and so to learn that she'd left with James Dempsey only ten minutes earlier had been galling.

They both sat staring at the Sky menu, deep in their own thoughts.

At last, Ed asked, "You're not gonna do anything stupid, are you?"

"Such as what?"

He hunkered down deeper into the sofa in a childish gesture. "Dunno… talk to him."

"I won't have much choice if he's serving behind the bar, will I, you bone."

"You know what I mean. You won't go… saying stuff, will you?"

"I've been waiting for Mummy Dearest to do that," she said sourly, "but it doesn't seem to be happening, does it?"

After a while, Ed mumbled, "He's alright, you know."

Jay turned on him angrily at that. "He isn't though, is he? How can you even say that?" Her eyes blazed. "If he meant anything to me, I'd probably hate him but as it is, I'm just agog to know what sort of a man could do what he did."

"Whatever he did, it doesn't seem to be bothering Mum too much at the minute; she's seen him loads this week."

"God, how stupid can you get?"

"Haven't seen her this happy in ages either… she's practically buzzing," he added.

"Pathetic," Jay ground.

This situation wasn't just going to disappear, was it? In fact, he had the feeling it was all going to blow up quite soon.


	61. Chapter 61

Chapter 61

Dempsey reflected on Angela's words as he sat in the living room waiting for Harry. 'Uncomfortably comfortable' was how she'd said Harry had described how she felt in his presence. He could understand that perfectly; like being too comfortable, so at ease that it was almost unnatural. They'd been apart for so long, it just couldn't be right to feel this way about her so soon. When they were together, it was like they were on an emotional high – laughing, fighting, so intense, so deep that it hurt to leave her. But leave her he did because that was what Harry wanted. Something was still holding her back from the love-making that would surely complete their relationship but he figured sooner or later he would earn enough trust to enable her to either explain her reluctance or simply give in to the throbbing instincts he knew she was fighting.

They had been together all day again; strolling around Harry's local shopping area in the morning, stopping off for coffee and a baguette and then in the afternoon, a trip to Battersea Park where they visited The Pump Room Gallery, walked around the boating lake and finally ended up sitting on the grass at the Peace Pagoda eating ice-creams. It had been an unforgettable day; for its simplicity, for its warmth, not only from the heat of the sun but also from the feeling he had inside and for the sheer pleasure of being with her. It all felt so right.

When they parted on Thursday night, Harry had suggested that they set off from her house for the party on Saturday night and that he then stop over afterwards. It made sense, she said - it would save time, cut down on the expense of taxis and was just more convenient all round. Dempsey was happy to agree.

So at nine o'clock this morning he had arrived with his stuff in a weekend holdall which she had stashed in the guest room. It was fine – he hadn't expected anything more and anyway, the prospect of the weekend to come was more than enough to get by on. If it happened it happened and if it didn't… there would be plenty more weekends ahead of them. However long he had to wait, she was worth it.

"Dempsey?" he heard her call from upstairs.

"Yeah?" he yelled back, doing that nonsensical thing of looking up at the ceiling.

"Would you do me a favour?"

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Would you put some food down for Magus? He'll probably be home soon."

"Sure. No problem."

Dempsey looked down at the long, muscular animal stretched out over his lap and half way up his chest, his golden eyes only half open as he purred contentedly.

"Come on, fella, let's go open you a packet o' mush."

As Dempsey attempted to move from his reclining position, the cat decided he was quite comfortable where he was and dug his thick claws into Dempsey's dinner jacket.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Watch the threads there, pal. A shredded DJ and pants covered with cat hair ain't gonna give the look I'm goin' for."

He managed to extricate himself from the black beast who immediately preceded him into the kitchen. Dempsey got the food out of the cupboard and put down fresh water.

"Go ahead and fill ya face, puddy-tat," he said, fondling the animal's ears. "And maybe I should apologise now for when I get home tonight. I'm thinkin' I may come across a little flaky and that ain't cool for cats, right?"

"You're always flaky, Dempsey."

He hadn't realised he'd been speaking loudly enough to be heard let alone that Harry had come downstairs and was standing behind him. He turned in surprise.

"Wow," he stated flatly. "I mean, really – wow!"

Harry rolled her eyes at his lavish appraisal of her.

"Thank you. You're looking quite acceptable yourself."

"I'm talkin' serious red carpet status, babe."

Smiling thinly, she crossed her arms in front of her, her hip jutting forwards. "Babe? Even you've got to admit I'm a little long in the tooth for 'babe'!"

He merely grinned, looking her over unashamedly. "Nah, I don't think so."

She wore a floor sweeping, figure hugging dress of mink silk that draped in delicate folds at the low cut front. Taking her by a bare, tanned arm, Dempsey slowly turned her around to view the elegantly revealing back of the dress where more soft folds of silk hung to frame her naked back.

"You look a million dollars. I'm just glad you're gonna be walkin' into the place on my arm otherwise there'd be a half dozen guys hittin' on you."

"That's very flattering, James but bearing in mind the average age of the guests, highly unlikely."

He shrugged, unable to take his eyes off her. "Age is just a number when you look like you do. In fact…" he traced a line with his fingertips from her shoulder to her collar bone, "I can see me havin' a hard time keepin' my hands off of you tonight."

Harry smiled, coolly teasing. "Oh, don't go worrying about that – I'm sure I'll be able to restrain you."

Deliberately, he stood as close as he possibly could without actually touching her and putting his lips to her ear, murmured, "Really? We talkin' the whole handcuffs deal?"

Neither of them moved. He could hear her breathing - a little unsteady? He had meant it humorously but she wasn't laughing and now, neither was he.

"I, erm…" she swallowed, "I'll see if the taxi's here yet."

But as she moved her head back a fraction, Dempsey's eyes locked with hers and he registered the dark passion burning there, bringing a depth of blue to the irises that was insanely alluring. He made a sound – he didn't know what – and then his mouth was upon hers, feeding on her honeyed lips like a starving man. He felt her slim body, hard and rigid in his arms, every part of her straining to receive him. Dempsey's senses were awash with her now, the scent of her freshly applied perfume and the tang of if on his lips as he trailed greedy kisses along her throat. He could hear his own breathing as well as Harry's, the combined effect so raw and sensual that he felt himself out on the edge of someplace crazy.

Her fingers moved through his hair, urging him to raise his head.

"We've got to go," she mumbled with swollen lips. Her hands came up to frame his face, her eyes fixated on his mouth.

"Yeah, I know."

The movement of his lips seemed to excite her. Her forefinger trembled over them hesitantly and Dempsey willed her to carry on, to take it as far as she wanted to go. When her finger slid along his lower lip, he allowed the slight pressure to part his lips, her finger penetrating his mouth. He saw her eyes flicker with the sudden unexpected sensation of his tongue, warm and caressing. Reaching for her hand, he held it there as he leaned forward to kiss her again. This time, she moaned rapturously, sliding another finger in to join the first, both their tongues slipping and swirling against them.

He was shocked by his need for he, by the physical longing and craven desperation that had transcended all rational thought. He was conscious only of Harry and the biological imperative.

As their mouths clashed together, Dempsey felt her fingers twisting and pushing within, indulging them both in the erotic sensations she was creating until he wanted to cry out in torment.

Without even realising it, they had backed up against the kitchen table. The sharp, staccato squeal of a table leg shifting did nothing to impede their actions, the noise only serving to heighten their awareness of each other.

Pulling her fingers clear at last, Harry wrapped her arms about his neck as their mouths united again. She was half lying across the table now and Dempsey's hands roamed her body; kneading at her small breasts, gliding over her stomach and hips.

"We can't," Harry gasped, "I mean it… we can't… James, please!"

"Sure we can."

She wasn't fooling anyone. She wanted it just as bad as him.

He drew up one side of her gown, the silk rustling softly as his hand brushed over her thigh.

"No. Not yet," she pleaded but she did nothing to still his movements. "I just can't."

As if on cue, they heard the sound of a car horn coming from the front of the house.

Harry pulled herself into a sitting position. "It's the taxi."

She sounded a little panicky Dempsey realised but then he too felt shaken by what had just taken place between them.

She moved away from him, smoothing down the dress, running fingernails through her hair in an effort to tidy it up. And then quickly she grabbed up her gold silk clutch bag from where she'd dropped it on a work surface along with the gift-wrapped present she had for Rosie Jarvis.

"Here, let me take that."

Dempsey took the large box from her. "I need some cover," he joked, feeling suddenly out on a limb after the intimacy. He held the box in front of him at waist level and Harry managed a weak smile.

Out in the hallway, she checked her reflection in the mirror as she hurried past, mumbling something incoherent but clearly derogatory.

Dempsey followed her out of the front door, neither of them having said another word. They had been thrust rudely back into reality and it felt awkward.

Having climbed into the back of the cab, Dempsey dumped the present on the seat opposite.

"Okay?" he asked quietly, briefly rubbing his hand over hers.

She tore open her clutch and began effecting repairs with a lipstick and mirror compact. "Fine." It came out distorted as her lips puckered to reapply the lipstick. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"'cause I feel like I've just been sucked into a big black hole and spit out again!" He glanced at her with a frown. "You don't feel that way?"

"I feel," she began, slotting the lid back onto the lipstick, "like a very large glass of well chilled Champagne."

Dempsey sat back, laughing with sheer exasperation.

Was she ever going to admit to herself what it was she really wanted? Maybe that was the point; she had admitted it and was fighting tooth and nail against it. Didn't she understand how different it could be for them this time around? Hadn't the last few weeks gone at least some of the way to proving that? They were good together – always had been and it wasn't too late to make a go of it. Was she really so scared of being hurt again that she couldn't commit to a proper relationship with him?

All those years with Juliette; putting her through hell because he himself couldn't commit – had that all been for nothing? Harry was denying fate. They were together again – as free agents – it was meant to be. But then, didn't that depend on how you looked at it? It hadn't worked with Juliette because Harry had always been there at the back of his mind – a memory that wouldn't die a natural death. And he had engineered their reunion; he'd made the decision to leave everything behind and seek her out. That wasn't fate.

Anxiously, he stole a look at her. She was still so beautiful – made 'different' by age, altered in an almost indeterminable way, her features deepened and softened by the years, her body still so slim and yet more voluptuous somehow.

Christ, that was it, wasn't it? Throughout their old relationship, the tempestuous highs and lows, the volatile ups and downs, despite everything that had been thrown at them, the sex had been incredible. They had never tired of each others bodies, the desire had never waned and fulfilment had always come with spectacular ease for both of them. And he remembered that he had constantly marvelled over her body when they made love. She had been so perfect in his eyes. Now, twenty three years on, having given birth to two children and knowing that the woman he had been with on Jersey was a dozen years her junior, she was scared that he would be disillusioned when the time came.

That had to be it. What other reason could there be for putting off what they both so patently desired?

He just had to convince her that she was still and always had been the most desirable woman he had ever known.

With a grin, he took her hand in his and settled back for the journey to Hammersmith, confident that he would now be able to win her round.


	62. Chapter 62

Chapter 62

_I realised after I'd written it that I'd stolen a line from 'Castle' but I've acknowledged it within the story and embellished upon it so I don't see it as too much of a direct pinch ;-) _

It was just after seven-thirty when the taxi dropped them outside Blueski's on the Upper Mall.

Chas and Alice Jarvis were there, greeting the guests as they arrived, both looking resplendent in their black tie and evening gown attire.

The building behind them stood in brilliant white elegance, the evening sunshine reflecting from the glossy black railings that topped the low wall at the front and formed a balcony that ran around the whole of the first floor. A curtain of lush green ivy completely covered one side of the building and hanging baskets of red blossoms were stationed at intervals under the balcony.

"Great venue," Dempsey commented as he gazed up at the people already gathered above.

Slowly they moved forward as the guests before them finally went inside.

"Harry!"

Alice pounced on her friend, hugging her tightly.

"I haven't seen you for ages. How are you?"

Beside them, Chas clasped Dempsey's hand. "Glad you could come, Jim, I really am."

Dempsey grinned. "Kinda hopin' I'm gonna be around for a while," a barely discernible nod in Harry's direction. "Maybe the four of us could go out to dinner one night – catch up properly."

"That'd be great," Chas agreed happily. "If I remember right, you used to like Chinese food."

"Yeah, that's right!" Dempsey laughed. "How'd you remember a thing like that?"

"There's a brilliant Chinese restaurant near us. Next week – you up for it?"

"You bet!"

"I'll get Alice to arrange it with Harry."

Chas put a hand to his wife's shoulder. "Alice, you remember Jim, don't you?"

She took his proffered hand and accepted a kiss on the cheek.

"I do – very well actually," she said, reflectively.

Dempsey grimaced. "Whoa… why do I get the feelin' that's a bad thing?"

Harry leaned between them.

"Maybe something to do with your best man speech, Dempsey."

They laughed but then Alice reminded them of the second and last time they met – in The Voltaire public house for the department Christmas meal.

"Someone else with a great memory," Dempsey noted.

Chas put an arm around Alice's waist. "We can go back decades recounting my misdemeanours, can't we sweetheart?" he said, jovially.

"It's always fun watching him squirm," sighed Alice with a wicked glint in her eye.

From somewhere above them, somebody shouted, "Auntie Harry! Are you coming up?"

They all raised their eyes to see a pretty, olive skinned girl leaning over the balcony rail.

"Rosie! Happy birthday. You look gorgeous, sweetheart!" Harry called back.

The girl beckoned her excitedly, holding a tall glass aloft. "Come on then. We've got your favourite – pink Champagne!"

"I'm on my way," she laughed.

Alice and Chas stood aside to allow them to pass.

"We'll be up in a bit," Alice told them. "Up the stairs to the right – we've got the whole of the first floor. Phil's here already by the way," she smiled mischievously, "with his 'plus one'."

Harry raised an interested eyebrow. "I'll look out for them."

"See you later," Dempsey said over his shoulder as he followed Harry inside.

"I think the 'plus one' must be Catherine," she said, taking his arm as they ascended the staircase. "Jay mentioned her the other day and I was hoping he'd bring her tonight."

"New girlfriend?"

"God willing."

Dempsey had to laugh at the long-suffering tone she used.

The bar upstairs was light and airy, offering panoramic views of the river in its summer evening majesty.

Letting go of Dempsey's arm, Harry began making her way across the room towards the open doors, greeting people she knew as she went.

To Dempsey's mind, she appeared tense – nervous, which just wasn't Harry at all. Harry, as far as he could recall, had never been phased by social functions; she had been born into the kind of society that demanded poise and finesse come what may and when called upon, Harry could exude it in buckets. So what was the problem tonight, surrounded by people she knew well? Was she still upset by their clinch in the kitchen?

Out on the balcony, they moved between potted palms and bistro tables in search of Chas' daughter but it was only a matter of moments before they spotted her and the other two Jarvis girls standing in a large group.

Immediately, Rosie pushed her way through, squealing and flapping her hands, closely tracked by her sisters.

"Oh my God, look at you!"

She linked her arm through Harry's, pulling her into the group. "My glamorous Auntie Harry!"

"I'm not sure 'glamorous' is quite the right word, darling but thank you anyway," she laughed amid the good-natured shouts of 'Hello, Auntie Harry' from the gathering of Rosie's peers.

"Err, Rosie…" she took a step back to stand a little closer to Dempsey. "I'd like you to meet James."

She noticed she now also held the keen interest of the other two sisters.

"James, this is Rosie, the birthday girl… and the sisters of the birthday girl, Lexa and Erin."

"Hi James," they chorused, giggling and sliding impish glances in Harry's direction.

Dempsey shook each one of them by the hand in an overtly debonair and charming fashion, making them giggle all the more.

"Oh, shut up! You're like a bunch of schoolgirls," she told them reprovingly but she was unable to keep the slightly bashful grin from her face.

"James and I used to work together with your dad before you three were even born."

Lexa, who at eighteen was the somewhat plump youngest sister, looked almost disappointed.

"Oh. Does that mean you're not… you know – together, then?"

"It means," Harry informed the three curious girls, "that my invitation said 'plus guest' and James is my guest."

Just out of her view, Dempsey winked and they fell about laughing.

Harry turned on him, tutting, "Dempsey, they really don't need any encouragement."

"Dempsey?" Erin queried. "Why Dempsey?"

"My surname. It's what most people call me – Dempsey or Jim. It's really only Harry calls me by my Sunday name."

This seemed to fascinate the girls who continued to bombard him with questions. When it was revealed that their honorary aunt had once been known by the surname, 'Makepeace', it was seen as quite a revelation.

"I never knew that," said Rosie. "Dempsey and Makepeace. That sounds so cool; like Castle and Beckett."

Harry looked at Dempsey and said with quiet sarcasm, "Or Turner and Hooch."

"I wasn't gonna be the one to say that – I got too much respect for you," he returned smugly.

The Jarvis girls watched the exchange avidly, not getting the joke but clearly seeing the chemistry.

"How about a game of fetch?" Harry asked.

Dempsey raised an eyebrow.

"Pink Champagne," she filled in.

"No problem – but I'll be expecting a tummy-tickle after you get it."

Harry pretended to look about her for waiting staff.

"Down boy," she murmured, for his ears only.

His eyes flicked briefly to hers before he announced that he was going to get them something to drink.

Wishing Rosie a happy birthday, he further ingratiated himself by telling them what a credit to Chas his beautiful daughters were.

As he left, he indicated to Harry the large box he had placed at his feet and was yet to be handed over. He figured they would be discussing handbags for the next ten minutes at least once Rosie had opened it.

Dempsey made his way to the bar and discovered Philip Cavanagh standing there waiting to be served.

"How you doin', Phil?" he said, deciding he might as well hold out an olive branch. "I hear there's pink Champagne up for grabs."

Cavanagh was obliged to accept the proffered hand, an inbuilt sense of etiquette dictating the move rather than a desire to acknowledge any sort of relationship between them.

"Hello, Mister Dempsey. I was wondering if you'd be here tonight."

"It's Jim," he corrected, "or Dempsey – take your pick."

Cavanagh smiled tightly. "Yes."

The woman at his side looked at Cavanagh pointedly and he suddenly realised that he was being remiss.

"Ahh, Catherine, this is James Dempsey, a friend of my ex-wife. Jim…" he somehow managed to speak the three letters in a very condescending manner, "Catherine Meadowbank."

"Nice to meet you, Catherine."

"Jim." She smiled a little warily as they shook, conscious of Cavanagh's attitude but not understanding it. "I think they've got the Champagne at the end of the bar," she pointed. "I'm hoping to get a glass myself before it runs out."

Quite a pretty lady, Dempsey thought to himself. Slim, 5'5" – 5'6", around fifty years old, blonde – now what might the attraction be for Cavanagh?

The barman asked Cavanagh for his order.

"You known Phil long?" Dempsey asked, making conversation whilst they waited together.

"A couple of months. We used to see each other in the same coffee bar at lunchtimes and we just got chatting."

"Sounds kinda romantic."

"It was, I suppose, wasn't it. Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard – Brief Encounter," she laughed at the silly comparison.

"Now there's a classic movie, huh?"

"Certainly is. I love the old black and whites."

At the side of them, a young woman squeezed by.

"Dad!" she called, causing Phil to turn.

Dempsey forgot Catherine for the moment as he watched her greet her father. He'd known instantly that this was Harry's daughter; there was just something about her so startlingly familiar. But the closer he looked, the harder it was to see any resemblance. Maybe it was her mannerisms, her stance, something about her eyes… There was just some strong, indefinable connection to Harry, of that he had no doubt.

Catherine moved forward and lightly touched her back. Jay swung round.

"Oh, hi Catherine," she beamed. "Sorry, I didn't see you. Are you alright?"

Her eyes suddenly alighted on Dempsey and the smile shrank.

They continued to stare at each other, held in a vacuum that seemed to segregate them from everybody and everything.

"Hi Jay," he said into the extended silence.

She gave him a puzzled smile and raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Hi," she answered boldly, implying that she hadn't a clue who he was.

Phil stepped in. "This is James Dempsey, darling – friend of Mum's.

He handed Jay a glass.

"Oh, yeah, right." Her tone was light but her dark eyes were brooding. "She's mentioned you once or twice."

"That's good."

He wanted to tell her how much like Harry she was but still hadn't managed to figure out how he had arrived at that conclusion. Jay was taller than her mother, dark haired, brown eyed and yet…

"Your Mom's back there talkin' to Rosie," he thumbed behind him, "if you wanna come over."

"In a bit; I just want to have a drink with my dad and Catherine first."

"Okay, no problem."

Putting his arm around his daughter's back to gently steer her away, Cavanagh said rather superciliously, "We'll see you later then. I'd offer to buy you a drink only it's a free bar until ten, you see."

"Chas is a brave guy, huh?"

"Brave?"

"Yeah. His wallet's gonna take a beatin', big style."

Phil smiled gravely. "I'm quite certain nobody here tonight is the sort to take advantage of the situation."

Dempsey laughed off the frosty response. "In my experience, when the alcohol is flown' freely, everybody takes advantage."

"Oh, yes of course. You run a pub or something, don't you?"

He didn't wait for an answer, instead, focusing on a couple ahead. "Martin… Nicola!" he called out.

Catherine shrugged, nonplussed. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Jim. I daresay we'll catch up later."

She gave an apologetic little wave as she disappeared off after Phil and Jay.

Talk about holding a grudge! Five years he and Harry had been divorced. And it seemed like Jay was firmly on her father's side… a real Daddy's Girl.


	63. Chapter 63

Chapter 63

There was something incredibly sensual about a woman's naked back , Dempsey acknowledged, especially when it was Harry's.

He returned to her side, feeling her stiffen a little under his ministrations as he let his fingers run lightly down her spine.

"Don't do that," she whispered, trying to concentrate on the sad story of refused car finance being told by a young man known to the Jarvis girls.

She accepted the glass of Champagne from him.

"Why, is it turning you on?" he whispered back.

"No!" she denied vehemently.

"It's turnin' me on."

She didn't respond but he noticed her lips part slightly.

His hand carried out another gentle tour of her back.

"So…" He definitely had her attention. "If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"

He watched her lips purse but a second later, the frown of concentration gave way to an unbidden jolt of laughter.

"That was an appalling line the first time around! Still, I'm sure there must be plenty of sweet young things here tonight who've never heard it before."

"It wasn't a line. I was askin' a serious question."

At last she turned to look at him. "Then my answer would have to be – you need to work on your serious questions, Dempsey."

They both looked away again to feign an interest in the car finance tale that was still in full swing, their smiles having nothing to do with what they were hearing.

"I just met your daughter, by the way. She's…"

But Harry cut him off abruptly. "You did what?" she demanded.

"Jay – she's with Phil and Catherine," he grinned, "who seems a nice enough woman from what I could tell."

"What did you say to her?" she asked, rigidly.

"I asked how she knew Phil…" he started but again, he was cut off by an anxious Harry.

"No, Jay."

He stopped, trying to decide what the problem was with him talking to her daughter.

"I didn't say nothin' outa place if that's what's botherin' you. I know we're 'just friends'," he said, his fingertips still sparking from the earlier friction.

"It isn't that, Dempsey…"

"So?"

Harry looked at him awkwardly. "I just… yes, we're 'very' good friends and I suppose I wanted to be the one to introduce you, not Philip."

Yeah?"

He kind of liked that – it showed she cared.

"She's gonna come and say 'hi' later."

A small smile fluttered about her mouth. "Okay."

"Hey, relax. Everything's fine, Princess. I get it, this is important to you, you want us to get on… Family, right? Very important people."

Harry nodded. "Mmm."

"C'mmon, look at me…" he stood back, his hands making a sweeping gesture, "what's not to love here?"

Harry raised an eyebrow as her left hand came up to graze over his jawline, following across to the shoulder of his dinner jacket from which she brushed invisible fluff."

"Okay, on second thoughts, I get your point," he joked.

She shook her head, fondly. "You're such an idiot."

"You wouldn't have me any other way."

"Probably not."

Her blue eyes were liquid as she looked up at him and Dempsey knew he saw his own emotions reflected in them.

"Think I've fallen for you again, babe," he told her softly.

No, he didn't think – he knew.

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she laughed, raggedly.

"I'll hold you to that."

She fussed with his bow tie, sipping at her Champagne as she did so. "You mean an awful lot to me, James, you really do… more than you can imagine."

He curled his fingers around hers and brought them to his lips. "Maybe you'll tell me this weekend…"

The implication was polarized by his warm breath playing over her knuckles.

Harry shut her eyes briefly. "Yes," she agreed, "this weekend, we'll sort everything out, I promise."

The shudder of emotion that coursed through her didn't go unnoticed by Dempsey. Was she finally ready to embrace what she could no longer fight against? Well, he'd make her see that she'd never had anything to fear in the first place. He wasn't about to let her down.

…

Jay had left her father and Catherine to go and talk to Rosie. They had moved back inside where it was less packed and stood drinking their freshly mixed Cuba Libres.

"Still think we should've had a joint party like we used to," said Rosie, "it would've been great."

"I know but it would've got a bit out of hand, numbers wise."

"No it wouldn't – we basically know the same people, don't we?"

Jay swirled the ice around with her straw. "Plus half the coppers in my division! Come one, come all, you know that. Look at your mum and dad's anniversary do – local crime rate went up by twenty per cent that night," she laughed.

Rosie grinned. "And speaking of coppers, we're liking the lovely Lieutenant Dempsey."

"He's not a Lieutenant," Jay said coolly, "and he hasn't been on the force since the 1980's."

"Well, whatever but he's pretty fit for his age."

She moved a foot or so to get a glimpse of him and Harry through the nearest window. "I bet him and your mum won't be stopping 'till the bitter end tonight," she giggled.

Jay screwed up her face. "Rosie, do you have to? Anyway, he's hardly what you'd call 'fit' – he's older than your dad!"

"So what?"

"That's disgusting."

"Don't you like him then?" she asked in surprise. "He's a wicked laugh."

"Don't know what my mum sees in him – he's a loudmouth."

"No way, he's dead sweet, Jay! Don't you think they look good together?"

Jay scowled angrily. "It's not some big fairy-tale romance, you know; it's just a sad, pathetic, middle-aged shag-fest. She thinks she can relive the past by dropping her knickers for him again."

Rosie was astonished by the maliciousness she was hearing – and a little unsettled.

"Come on, babes," she soothed, moving to give her a swift hug, "she's only having a bit of fun, isn't she?"

"Fun?" Jay barked.

"Were they a couple before then? When they were working together?"

"Yeah," she said aggressively, "before he pissed off back to the land of the free."

Rosie sucked nervously on her straw. "But they're happy enough now," and then added cautiously, "your mum knows her own mind."

"My mum's a selfish cow!"

"Jay!" Rosie was mortified.

"I need another drink."

Rosie followed behind as Jay flounced back to the bar and stood tapping a beer mat on the bar top whilst she waited to be served.

"Jay…"

Full of concern now, her friend put her arms around her and kissed her cheek.

"Babes, I don't know what's wrong, I don't understand. If you don't like him, that's fine but what's your mum done that's so wrong?"

"It's really complicated but trust me, she's being really stupid."

"Okay," she said tentatively.

"Sorry. It's alright. I just needed a bit of a rant. I'm going to go over and say hello and I'm going to be the dutiful daughter. I'm not going to cause a scene."

"I wasn't bothered about that, I just want to know you're okay."

Jay smiled reassuringly. "I will be when I've had another few of these." She shook her glass from side to side, the remaining ice tinkling in the bottom.

…

For a while, Jay stood by herself, watching them from the window. She felt partially invisible, caught between what was happening here in the bar and what was going on outside.

They were talking to Victor Spode. He was a twenty-six year old trainee dentist who originally hailed from Burnley, the proof of which was more than apparent in his broad Lancashire accent. Rosie had met him through a now ex-boyfriend but kept in touch. Jay was pleased to see him tonight – he was so funny and could always be relied upon to have an assembly in stitches. On this occasion though, it seemed to be James Dempsey holding court, not Victor, who was listening attentively and grinning like a Cheshire cat.

The American was acting out a tooth extraction and Victor started nodding furiously, laughing and mirroring Dempsey's performance.

Her mother looked so happy. But she wasn't happy, was she – she just thought she was and if she bothered to stop and think about it, she'd see she was being used. How could she be so stupid as to let him come grubbing around in her life again, in all their lives, messing everything up.

As soon as they and Victor parted, Jay approached.

"Hello, darling! I'd been wondering where you'd got to."

Jay caught the furtive shift of her eyes to Dempsey and back again.

"I was with Dad and Catherine and then I just had a chat with Rosie. Sorry," she said defensively.

She took a quick look at him too – she couldn't help it. It was like wiggling at a loose tooth – it hurt but in some strange way, it gave a sense of satisfaction or relief, almost.

There was something about him that compelled her to move a couple of steps closer. It was almost like she wanted to torture herself with his presence; to know what he looked like close up, to know what he smelt like, to know what it would feel like to be held in his arms... and her compulsion disgusted her.

"You've already met James, haven't you," her mother was saying in a tragically 'girly' voice, like she wanted them both to 'feel the love'.

Jay smiled pleasantly. "Yes, Dad introduced us."

_Oh, the irony_

But he didn't react – he just smiled back, his warm, brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

"So what's Catherine like?" Harry asked mischievously, stirring a forefinger mid-air in an inquisitorial manner.

"She's lovely," Jay told her matter-of-factly.

Harry had clearly been expecting something a little more 'meaty' in her response, as would normally have been the case so Jay's positive opinion fell a little flat.

"Is she?" she asked curiously.

"Mm, she is," Jay confirmed, "she's a really nice person, actually."

"And Dad's happy?"

"Seems to be."

Harry shrugged. "Well that's great then. I hope he makes a go of it."

"It'll keep him out of your hair, won't it?"

Even Dempsey heard the tinge of bitterness laced into the sarcasm and she felt his eyes linger questioningly.

_Don't treat him like a joke, Mum, because it isn't very funny any more_

"You know what he can be like, darling."

Jay sighed, switching her weight from one foot to the other.

_Not in front of 'him'. Don't slag my Dad off in front of 'him'_

"Hey, who can blame the guy, huh?" Dempsey put in, covering all bases.

Jay wanted to say something cutting but realised it would sound churlish when Dempsey was obviously trying to smooth things over.

"You managed to get new digs sorted out yet?" he asked.

Scotch with ice, she noted as he raised the glass to his mouth.

"Not yet. We're probably not even going to bother now anyway," she answered grudgingly. Her mother had evidently been discussing her domestic arrangements.

"The station house not as bad as you'd expected? I hear they got all the mod cons these days."

"It's okay. We certainly wouldn't get anything better for the money."

"At your age, kiddo, you got better things than rent to be spendin' your cash on."

"Shoes!" Harry pointed down at Jay's feet. "Got a total shoe fetish, this one. How many pairs is it now – fifty one?"

Jay felt a small smile achieve prominence. "Weeell… I hardly dare tell you but…" she stuck her left foot out for Harry to admire the sandal she wore but Dempsey got in first.

"Jimmy Choos makes fifty two, right?"

Jay looked up sharply. "Yeah! How would you know that?" she asked in amazement just as Harry was demanding to know where she had left her brain.

"I ain't as green as I'm cabbage-lookin'."

Harry regarded him with deep suspicion but said nothing,

Dempsey then went on to tell her of some of the grungy rooms he had rented in his younger days and how much it made him appreciate what he had now.

"An old converted coach house," Harry supplied, "you should see it, it's absolutely gorgeous."

Her mother's enthusiasm riled her.

_Why should I care where he lives?_

But then, Harry wasn't herself, was she? She was nervous and on edge and watching the pair of them like a hawk.

"It ain't Winfield Hall but it's home."

The idea that he possibly was more familiar with Winfield Hall than she was, was yet another bugbear. Had he visited? Had he known the grandfather she couldn't even remember and had Granddad Freddy liked him? From everything she'd been told of Freddy Winfield, she thought he most likely had. Granddad Freddy had been fun-loving and occasionally boisterous – a warm and kind spirited man who would have accepted her mother's 'friend and colleague' at face value.

But after James Dempsey had gone, she knew his opinion of him would have changed radically. Well, wouldn't anybody's?

Jay made her escape after a few more minutes, promising vaguely to see them later.

"Jimmy Choos?" Harry marvelled at Dempsey.

"What?" he smiled nonchalantly.

"You know what."

"Okay, so it was a lucky guess. She's a self-confessed shoe-oholic and the look on her face said she'd gone way over budget so I took a stab." He grinned. "I read a feature in The Times supplement a while ago about the woman who owns the company, is all."

"And I suppose you think you're clever."

Dempsey took her by the hand and began to pull her along behind him.

"I admit, I impressed myself there."

"Err… where are we going?" Harry asked, hanging back.

"We're gonna boogie, Tiger!"

_So, Sunset72, if you cheated and skipped to the end of the chapter like last time, you were sadly disappointed -P Yes, I'm dragging it out a bit but it's just the way I see it happening in my head and it'll get there when it gets there. LOL . Chapter 64 up soon!_


	64. Chapter 64

Chapter 64

It was wonderfully warm outside still and now quite dark. The balcony seemed to have been taken over as a dance floor as tables and chairs were shifted to the sides. Management intervention seemed probable.

A full moon hung low in the night sky, looking incredibly huge and beautiful and all eyes seemed to be on it as the guests chatted, ate and danced and Harry and Dempsey stood looking up in awe when they emerged from the bar room.

"Oh, good Lord, look at that!" exclaimed Harry. "Isn't it fabulous?"

"That's really somethin'," he agreed. "Gimme your camera, I gotta get a shot of you standin' right there."

He held his hand out impatiently, waiting for Harry to take it out of her clutch bag.

"Must you?" she sighed with a reluctant smile as she passed it over.

He took several snaps from different angles until she finally grabbed the camera off him.

"Alright, that's more than enough, thank you."

"Ah, come on, just one more – both of us this time."

Dempsey took the camera back and with one arm wrapped around Harry's shoulders, held the camera as far away as he could to get them both within shot.

"Not bad," he said dubiously as they viewed the screen together.

Harry jabbed a finger at it, rolling her eyes. "I look like I've downed ten pints," she cried, "and you look like you've just lost control of your bladder!"

Dempsey began to chuckle but then when he looked into Harry's eyes, he doubled up with laughter. She in turn started to crack up and within moments, they were both laughing hysterically.

"Come on, try again," Harry giggled, wiping the tears from her eyes. This time, she took the photograph herself and held the camera for them both to see the result.

"That's appalling!" she shrieked. "I look so gormless!"

"I don't even get to say that – you only got half of me in the picture, Tinkerbell."

"D'you want me take a picture?" asked Lexa Jarvis as she and a friend walked by.

Dempsey immediately handed over the camera. "Thanks, sweetheart," he laughed, "we could be here all night if we carry on like this."

"Okay, give Dempsey a big kiss, Auntie Harry," Lexa giggled.

Harry gave her a threatening look. "Alexa!"

"Hey, you got a Sunday name, too!"

Harry turned within the circle of his arm and lifted her head to place a kiss on his cheek. Lexa snapped away.

Dempsey then took several shots of Harry and the girls, followed by the girls with Dempsey to much giggling and posturing.

"Incredible!" Harry smiled her most sardonic smile as the girls departed.

"What's that, babe?"

She frowned at his use of the word. "How the old Dempsey charm can still span the generations."

"Is this you admitting I got charm?"

"Grudgingly… and only because I'm under the influence."

Slowly and deliberately, Dempsey looked her over. "Wanna know what I'm thinkin'?"

"I'm quite certain I don't."

"I'm thinkin' that there's no way you can be wearin' any underwear with that dress."

Harry's eyes widened, astonished by his audacity.

"Just makin' an observation."

"Well don't."

Dempsey smiled but after a moment, raised an eyebrow indicating he was still waiting for his answer.

She shook her head and sing-songed mockingly, "You may never know."

"I think you'll find the phrase you're looking for is, 'that's for me to know and for you to find out'."

"Actually, the phrase that springs to mind, Dempsey, I can't quite lower myself to repeat." she said disdainfully and Dempsey's heart did a back flip as her lip hooked up.

He leant in and murmured close to her ear, "So why don't you whisper it?"

"Why don't we go and get something to eat instead," Harry suggested, blithely.

"We ain't gonna dance now?" he tried, eager to be in a position where he could legitimately have his hands on her.

"I need sustenance."

Food was being cooked on a barbeque at one end of the balcony and the delicious scents of grilled meats and fish along with roasted peppers and onions filled the night air. Plates of hot filled ciabatta rolls were doing the rounds and Harry and Dempsey, who hadn't eaten since lunch, suddenly found that they had an appetite.

"Wonder if they got any ketchup," Dempsey pondered, taking a bite of his steak ciabatta.

"Philistine!"

"Be back in a sec."

He darted over to the table adjoining the barbeque and was back a moment later.

"Okay," he grinned, "so taking into account the earlier, and in my opinion, uncalled for comment, I decided on Jack Daniel's Tennessee style barbeque sauce."

He had slipped quite comfortably into a Southern accent. "Care to partake ma'am?"

She wrinkled her nose at the suggestion. "I've never felt the need to douse good food in monosodium glutamate and acetic acid."

The smile suddenly fell from her lips and she looked down at the ground as she tried to collect herself.

"What's the matter, Princess?" Dempsey asked, noticing the flash of anxiety.

Quickly, she shook her head, laughing it off as she continued eating her own chicken ciabatta. She had been forced to remember a short period of her life when practically everything she ate had been larruped with a sauce – when she had absolutely craved the cheap, vinegary, American yellow mustard favoured by fast food outlets.

"Mm, this is beautiful," Dempsey exclaimed, passionately. "Try some."

He brought the crusty roll to her mouth but she backed away.

"Just try it… c'mmon, take a bite, it's beautiful."

Harry shook her head, laughing. "I don't want to try it, thank you."

"C'mmon, just a little taste – you're gonna love it."

"Dempsey!" she protested as he nudged the crisp crust against her lips, holding his arm around her back to prevent escape.

"Open!" he commanded.

It wasn't that she was doing as she was told – more that she couldn't stop herself from laughing. Dempsey pressed the ciabatta forward and Harry's teeth clamped down upon it.

"So?" he questioned. "You like?"

Her hand was at her mouth, trying desperately to contain both the food and the laughter.

"Mm," she nodded, trying to chew.

"Now you tell me you ain't enjoyin' that culinary delight?" he persisted, making her laugh harder.

Harry tried to pull away but Dempsey held fast.

"Alright, I like it… I like it," she choked as she finally began swallowing.

"Whad I tell ya?"

He brought his face up close to hers. "You got a little sauce right there." His free hand left the warmth of her back to rub off the tiny dark smear with his thumb. It then went into his mouth and he licked it clean. The hand returned to the small of her back and Harry responded to the gentle pressure by pushing her body up against his. They kissed, very softly, lips moist and clinging. It only lasted for a matter of seconds but it was enough to enflame them both.

Dempsey pulled away and fell to finishing his food with gusto, keen to distract himself from the moment.

"You seemed kinda uptight earlier," he suggested carefully. "You feelin' better?"

"Fine!" she answered as though she wasn't sure what he meant. "Maybe I was just hungry."

"Well, I noticed they have a couple huge plates of profiterole back there and I know you're a sucker for 'em."

"I may let you talk me into a few later," Harry smiled, gazing up at the glowing moon that seemed almost close enough to touch.

"Whoa… a D.J who can deviate from a set – I like it."

"Sorry?"

Harry downed the last of her chicken ciabatta hurriedly as once again, Dempsey took her by the hand.

"Unless it's coincidence of course."

"What exactly are you talking about?"

They had moved onto the central balcony area that had been turned into a dance floor by half the guests.

"Toploader."

He fastened a hand to Harry's waist and she placed a hand upon his shoulder as their opposite hands laced fingers.

Harry laughed as she picked up on his meaning and began to softly sing along with him to the song.

_We get it on most every night,_

_When the moon is big and bright,_

_It's a supernatural delight,_

_Everybody's dancing in the moonlight,_

_Everybody here is out of sight,_

_They don't bark and they don't bite,_

_They keep things loose they keep it tight,_

_Everybody's dancing in the moonlight,_

_Dancin' in the moonlight,_

_Everybody's feelin' warm and bright,_

_It's such a fine and natural sight,_

_Everybody's dancing in the moonlight,_

_We like our fun and we never fight,_

_You can't dance and stay upright,_

_It's a supernatural delight,_

_Everybody's dancing in the moonlight…_

Without intending to or even realising it, they had drawn attention to themselves with their semi-formal dance style. The majority of the people on the dance floor with them were twenty-somethings who had only the vaguest ideas of what formal dancing involved and so were greatly impressed by their display.

Dempsey twirled Harry around again but this time only turned her half way so that when she had her back to him, he wrapped his arms around her waist, his head nestled into her neck.

"You havin' fun, Princess?"

"Yes," she giggled, shying away from the chin that was pressing into the sensitive spot just above her collar bone.

"Are you?"

They swayed together in time to the music.

"Uh huh," he answered, freeing up his right hand to run it lightly up over her hip and then back down to rest on her buttock.

"Hands!" Harry whispered severely.

"Got two of 'em."

"Only two? Are you quite sure about that, James? It feels like at least a dozen."

She skewed herself around and put both hands on his shoulders.

His hands again alighted at her waist. "Sure you haven't just let slip a little fantasy there? All those hands…" He sucked in a breath, eyes half closed.

The Champagne and white wine she had consumed had made her bold and she didn't oblige him by blushing. Instead, she said brazenly, "What if I had though? Not that I'm confirming or denying _anything_," she added pertly, "but it'll torment you for the rest of the night, won't it?"

He didn't answer and Harry knew he was struggling to rein in his rampant thoughts. She dipped her head in an attempt to force him to meet her eyes, pleased with the way she'd managed to gain the upper hand.

With a slow smile, he stole back the advantage from her.

"Nah, that was never your style. I seem to remember you always had a more _practical_ approach. Park Royal Tube Station sticks in my mind…"

Harry conceded that with a half-smile and a clearing of the sudden restriction in her throat.

"… and err, there was the pick-up in the bar of that hotel in Chelsea, I think it was," he continued with amusement. "Just off Sloane Square, right?"

Harry was most definitely blushing now.

"And I can even recall the dress you nearly had on… one of your undercover get-ups."

"I think it's time for another drink," she said brightly, patting his shoulders with her palms.

Dempsey chuckled as he allowed her to lead the way back to where they'd left his jacket and her clutch.

They were caught up by Alice and Chas who were laughing and breathless, having also been on the dance floor.

"These kids think you're practically a celebrity if you can manage a bit of ballroom these days!" Alice exclaimed buoyantly, "even if your partner has two left feet."

"Thank God for 'Strictly, aye Chas?" Harry laughed, squeezing his forearm.

"What's everyone drinkin'?" Dempsey wanted to know, taking his wallet from the pocket of his jacket which hung on the back of a chair.

He and Chas left for the bar leaving Harry and Alice at the little table.

"You alright then, Harry?" Alice asked with a mock grimace.

Harry drew a shaky breath and laughed. "No offence but I'll be glad when tonight's over with. My nerves are shot!"

"I can imagine," Alice sympathised. "You and Jim seem to be getting on really well though."

"I almost wish we weren't; it just makes it harder."

"I don't envy you the position you're in, chick. All you can do is what you think is right. You can't change anything."

"Don't I know it?"

Harry covered her mouth with her hand for a moment, shaking her head. "This is killing me Alice so what's it going to do to them?"

Dempsey and Chas came back quite some time later with the drinks.

Alright ladies," Chas said suavely, "Jim's kindly offered me a very fine cigar to help celebrate the birthday of my eldest daughter so we're just going to have a chat over there where the smoke is less likely to bother you." He nodded towards the far end of the balcony, leaning a little heavily on the table.

"You two have a swift one at the bar, did you?" Alice asked as she passed him his lager. "Take that one steady, love."

"He's fine." Dempsey put an arm across Chas' shoulders. "Don't worry, Alice, sweetheart, I'm gonna keep my eye on Mein Host."

Harry frowned up at him from her seat. "Hm. And who's gonna keep an eye on you?"

He leaned down and planted a kiss unexpectedly on her lips. "Babe! So little faith. You think I'm gonna spitball over the rail or somethin'?"

"Go on then," she told him, impatiently shooing them away, "go and suck on your dummies for a while."

Looking anxiously to Alice as the men sauntered away, Harry asked a silent question.

Alice shook her head. "Don't worry. You know Chas, nothing would induce him to say anything; it'd certainly take more than a few pints."

…

They talked about old times, the pressures of Chas' present job at the top of his career ladder, Dempsey's unexpected and wildly unimaginable career move, the pros and cons of holidaying in the Far East, the rising cost of petrol, the general decline of popular music over the last twenty years, old friends and the importance of family. Dempsey congratulated him on his wife and three beautiful daughters and admitted he envied what Chas had – namely, a close family unit.

"You wouldn't be saying that at Christmas time when all the relatives descend," Chas assured him. "Alice has got three sisters and two brothers which means nephews and nieces and their off-spring too. Not that we get them all – it just seems like it."

They looked down over the balcony to street level in contemplative silence for a moment before Chas turned.

Dempsey looked up expectantly.

"I've really got to take a leak," Chas excused himself.

Dempsey raised a hand in acknowledgment before clamping the cigar it held between his teeth.

He smiled to himself. Chas was one of the good guys.

He suddenly got the feeling that he was being watched and turned his head towards the wooden dais of palm and pampas grass planters at the side of him. Harry's daughter was staring at him boldly.

"Hiya, Jay." He was mildly disconcerted by her fixed glare.

"Okay, honey?"

Jay didn't answer but came to stand beside him, resting her glass on the rail.

"You havin' a good night?" he tried again.

After a long pause, she finally spoke.

"I know who you are, you know."

Dempsey waited for her to expand on that and when she failed to do so, came to the conclusion that the Cuba Libres had got the better of her.

"Well," he played along, "I'm happy you remember me."

She looked at him with abject disgust. "I don't remember you though, do I? I've only just met you. My own father and I've only just met you!"


	65. Chapter 65

_Chapter 65_

_His name was Shaun Kirkland. He was twenty-eight years old with grey eyes and close cropped brown hair. He was married; no children, enjoyed martial arts and motor-cross in his spare time, didn't smoke, drank red wine or bitter in moderation and ate a healthy diet. He apparently didn't suffer fools gladly and believed that rules and regulations were always there for a reason._

_All this Harry was made aware of within the first ten minutes of them meeting and she decided that Gordon Spikings had a lot to answer for. _

_Christmas hadn't come early, the chief had informed her but 'upstairs' had wanted to fast-track Kirkland into an operational situation and as their profiles had matched so well, it had been decided that he should make the transfer from Surrey with immediate effect._

_By the end of the first day, Makepeace felt insulted by the comparisons 'upstairs' had drawn. How could they see then as such an ideal match when Kirkland had absolutely zero personality? He clearly thought himself something of a 'hard-man', strutting around with his head held high and his fists clenched at his sides but she had to concede he seemed to have a brain too. Another sticking point was his sense of humour which like his personality, seemed non-existent. Yes, they shared the same work ethic and were undoubtedly on the same wavelength regarding SI-10 operations but it was… well – dull. He bored her rigid._

_She could tell it wasn't going to work. He wouldn't challenge her, wouldn't fire her imagination, would never goad her into making a rash decision or a radical choice. He wouldn't get her blood boiling (and pulse racing) with his flagrant disregard for authority and certainly would never make her heart beat faster with a lop-sided grin._

_Maybe it was just too soon. If they had taken on board Spiking's recommendation, she wouldn't be in this situation. She simply wasn't ready for a new partner yet, particularly one with his head quite so far up his own arse._

_She knew she should really be inviting him to The Bramcote for an after work drink at the end of his first day but not only did she not relish the idea of being stuck with him for another half an hour or so, she had a doctors' appointment at five-forty._

_She'd felt run down for weeks now. Since the trial of Teddy McKintyre, her life had seemed to degenerate and her health was suffering because of it. She was constantly tired yet could never sleep longer than a couple of hours at a stretch and lying alone in the dark, her thoughts were always with James. Sometimes, she tried to imagine that he was in the bed beside her, that his arms were around her, his body curved protectively against hers. If he was with her, she knew she'd be able to sleep. She'd even tried sleeping with a pillow bolstered at her back but the sad futility of the act had made her cry with a wretchedness that had kept her awake until dawn._

_Her appetite was a little better of late – at least she wasn't forgetting to eat anymore, even if her diet was rather unvaried. Tea and toast at breakfast but she had dropped the marmalade in favour of yellow mustard. At lunchtime she usually picked up a sandwich; chicken salad, cheese and tomato, salmon and cucumber, it all tasted so much better with a few lines of the yellow mustard from the bottle she kept in her handbag squirted over the filling._

_Dinner was harder to deal with. Over the months, she had got used to cooking for two people again. If she didn't cook at home, they had cooked together at his flat unless they ate out. Now, she couldn't be bothered when it was only for herself. Often, a can of soup sufficed and a roasted chicken could easily stretch for three days with a tossed salad._

_She had seen Angela at the weekend for the first time in nearly a fortnight. Angela had finally managed to badger her into doing lunch. As Harry picked at her meal, Angela had looked on with ill-concealed exasperation . Her forthright opener of "My God, darling, you look like shit," had, rather than upset Harry, made her laugh out loud as her friend had intended. But she knew she spoke the truth and steeled herself for further well-intentioned haranguing. 'Dempsey had gone, she had herself to think about now, six months down the line and it would all seem like a bad dream.' Harry wondered what her reaction would have been had she known that when she had excused herself to go to the bathroom, she had got her psychological 'Dempsey fix' in the form of a finger loaded with American yellow mustard._

_Angela made her promise that she see a doctor and request some kind of a pick-me-up. Harry wasn't too sure how she felt about anti-depressants but she was starting to think she needed something to get her through this._

_What her doctor actually gave her was rather different to the prescription she had been anticipating – a due date for her baby and a hospital referral._

_By the time she arrived back home she felt almost as though she was living someone else's life. None of it seemed real anymore; it was a travesty of a soap opera._

_She was two and a half months gone – ten weeks! Yes, she'd been aware of 'irregularities' but she'd just put that down to stress; the strain of the relationship and then the court case on top of that. It had never crossed her mind that… she had been taking her pill like clockwork – had never forgotten it. Doctor Hanes had pointed out that she was `unfortunately among the very tiny minority of women for whom the oral contraceptive wasn't 100% effective. 92-99.7% effective, he told her, meaning that when used to the letter, less than one in a hundred women would still manage to conceive._

_So there it was – she was officially a very unlucky woman._

_Doctor Hanes explained that there was a very small chance the continued use of the pill could have had a detrimental effect on the foetus but thorough tests would be done at the hospital and as long as she stopped taking it immediately, there was no great cause for concern. Harry didn't bother to mention that she'd stopped taking it the day after James left nearly four weeks ago. Nor did she tell him that as far as she was concerned, there wasn't going to be a baby for much longer anyway._

_She poured herself a glass of brandy and drank it down in one. That was a no-no for a start, wasn't it? She smiled and poured another. No matter, this time next week, she could have it all over and done with. Natasha Fox-Mail had found herself in this predicament last year and apparently got it sorted at a very nice private clinic in Harley Street within forty-eight hours. Nobody would have to know. She could take a couple of days sick leave and no one would be any the wiser. How much worse would it have been if she'd found out before James left – having to tell him of his unplanned fatherhood. That would have put an end to the remains of their relationship quicker than anything. Not that he wouldn't have been terribly kind and understanding, showing sympathy when he took her to the clinic and compassion when he fetched her home again. But whilst he would lavish her with all the emotion in his heart, barely a thought would be left for the dead infant. They had had a narrow escape, disaster had been averted - draw a line under it._

_But the funny thing was, she could see him making a good father one day. He had such a child-like spirit for life and a deep-rooted humanity that she knew the right woman with the right temperament would provide him with an environment in which he would nurture his offspring. Her head captured images of Dempsey playfully tossing a young baby up in the air, cooing and laughing but her heart reasoned that every picture told a story. He would secretly yearn for freedom, having been imprisoned by his own flesh and blood._

_Gingerly, her hand smoothed over her stomach._

_There was nothing there of course; her stomach was virtually concave these days and she supposed it would be many more weeks before she could actually feel any movement… would have been, had she been keeping it. She had a very promising career ahead of her in a tough, male dominated world. On the other side of the coin, what she didn't have was a husband, boyfriend or significant other – just a sperm donor living three and a half thousand miles away. There really was no decision to make, was there? _

_But a nagging little voice was pointing out that she was thirty two years old and time was running out. What if she didn't get another chance? What were her priorities; being at the top of her game or having a child to love, who would love her back forever, long after she had been put out to grass and resigned herself to recreational gardening and vicarious stories of friend's grandchildren._

_But having this baby would throw her into another world – morph her into another person, her entire life as she knew it would alter irrevocably and she wasn't convinced she was strong enough for that._

_No. The logical thing was to put everything behind her; the whole sorry mess. She had to start anew._

_Of course, Angela was wonderful - an absolute brick. Her brisk brand of sympathy was exactly what she needed to get her through and her advice was sound – do whatever she wanted to do, for herself and her future and to hell with what anybody else said or thought. _

_So Harry made what she knew to be the biggest decision of her life and was prepared to live with it right up until she was given the date for the termination._

_Thursday the twenty-sixth of November._

_She should have been spending that day with Dempsey and his family but instead, she was going to abort his baby - on Thanks Giving Day. Although not given to superstition, it felt so much like an omen that she broke down on the phone to Angela when telling her. _

"_It's only another day, darling; just a notable date of an historic event, but," suddenly her voice softened, "it's sounding a lot like you should actually be planning for an historic event of your own next summer."_

_And the tears had turned to tears of relief and then laughter. Yes, that was what she wanted. This was her child they were talking about and wasn't family more important than anything? When she summoned up the courage to tell him, wouldn't Daddy tell her that exact same thing?_


	66. Chapter 66

Chapter 66

Dempsey felt a smile masking over the confused emotions that were vying for attention.

"I don't follow."

"I've known for ages."

"Known?"

"What do you think I should call you? Daddy Dempsey?" she giggled unpleasantly.

"Honey, I ain't your dad," he told her gently.

Jay sighed theatrically. "Do we really have to go through this? I know you are and you know you are so let's not waste time pretending it's any big revelation."

Dempsey felt a great wave of apprehension wash through him. This was utterly surreal, totally incomprehensible. Where had she picked up an idea like that?

"I'm not your dad, Jay," he repeated.

"It wasn't exactly difficult to work out. When I was eleven, I asked my mum why there was no father's name on my birth certificate – she told me it was because she and dad were going through a bad patch when I was born. She said they'd split up and in a fit of pique, she'd registered my birth without his knowledge. I believed her and that in itself really upset me."

"So why doubt her? Why would she make a thing like that up?"

"You know why!" Jay raised her voice in exasperation.

"No, seriously, I don't." He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep calm.

"I heard them rowing." She eyed him cautiously before she continued. "Twice when I was a kid, I heard them rowing about you. Dad accused her of being 'fixated on that bloody American'. That was _exactly _what he said, I remember it very clearly. And he said something about 'our constant little reminder'. It didn't make any sense at the time." Jay scowled at him. "Well, it wouldn't , would it? But it still stuck in my head all the same."

There was something thick and cloying shifting slowly in his chest, the same thing that was preventing his mind from moving into gear.

"Doesn't mean anything – you were a kid – you misunderstood."

"And I remember hearing your name and mine in the same sentence – not Ed, just me," she persisted. "Was that coincidence, do you think?"

"Must've been 'cause there's no way you're my daughter."

But he found himself looking at her with fresh eyes now. She didn't look like Harry at all, did she? And yet, she wasn't a stranger to him, she was familiar.

"You left her in 1987, didn't you?" she accused.

"I went back to America, yes. I didn't want to, I loved your mother but stuff happened that made it impossible for me to stay."

"Stuff like you getting her pregnant?"

"No way," Dempsey told her firmly. "Didn't happen."

"You knew! You must've known! That's why you ran away." There was an anxiety building in her voice.

Dempsey just shook his head dumbly before a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Your mom said she and your dad got together real quick after I left…" he stopped. But Jay already knew when he'd gone. "When's your birthday?" he asked falteringly.

"I was twenty-two last month," she told him triumphantly, "and I'll save you the bother of working it out – it means I must've been conceived some time around the start of September 1987 because I was born two weeks late – she at least told me that much," she said bitterly. "You were still around then, weren't you?"

"'til October 23rd," he said quietly.

Jay was gratified to see the slight tremor of his hand as he slugged the remains of his Scotch.

There was a palpable silence between them which was broken at last by Jay.

"When I was fourteen, the dentist suggested I had a brace fitted to even my teeth up." Her hand went to her mouth, pointing absently. "Mum tried to talk me out of it – said a little gap between my front teeth gave me character. I thought she was mad and Dad backed me up so I went ahead and had the brace fitted."

Jay looked him squarely in the eyes. "You've got a gap between your front teeth."

He could quite clearly see himself in her now – it was so obvious.

"Shit," he whispered.

"She really didn't tell you, did she?"

"If she had, you really think I'd have gone back to The States?" he asked incredulously.

There was a steel edge to Jay's voice when she answered, "How would I know? I don't know you, do I?"

"Look, I…" He banged the hand holding the cigar down on the rail, anguish marring his face. "I don't know what to say to you… I don't know what to think. I can't get my head around this."

"You can rest assured I don't want anything from you. I've already got a dad and I'm a bit too old for pocket money."

"I'm sorry, Jay." He rubbed at his forehead with the palm of his hand, the cigar still between his fingers as he squeezed his lips together.

"S'ppose I am too. I thought you already knew. Didn't realise it was going to be such a shock."

Dempsey laughed hollowly. "Shock is a…"

He looked at Jay wonderingly. "You never challenged her about it – how come?"

Jay shrugged. "I way very young when the truth dawned on me and I suppose I realised that if I said anything, I was running the risk of upsetting my parents – of splitting the family even. So I just kept quiet. I told Ed but I can't even remember when; he's just always accepted that it's our secret." Jay smiled. "Ironic really, how Mum's secret sort of became mine too. It's been our dirty little secret."

She was his daughter but he didn't feel anything yet beyond stupefaction .

How could Harry not have said anything back then? Had she finished up so disillusioned, so scared that under no circumstance was she prepared to have him in her life, even at the expense of his child? But what had given her the right to deny him that child?

An invidious sense of loss swept through him. He'd missed out on so much. Looking at Jay, he saw a whole other life – not just hers but his also, an alternative universe where he and Harry had maybe lived a happy-ever-after existence.

How had their relationship degenerated so badly? And even now, she couldn't tell him, she couldn't admit the truth. No wonder she had been so uptight tonight – it was the thought of him finally meeting his daughter. And what about Chas and Alice? They must know. Harry's best friend, Angela – another one keeping schtum.

"What are you going to say to her?" Jay asked hesitantly.

Dempsey shook his head. "Nothin'. I got nothin' I wanna say to her."

His voice was dead and Jay saw the acute pain he was hiding behind his eyes.

"I bet she hasn't told you my name is short for Jamie, has she?"

Dempsey sensed she was twisting the knife but acknowledged that she was entitled to. She felt nothing for her biological father – less than nothing but she needed to assuage the resentment that had been festering for so long. She wanted him to suffer and Harry too, probably. Not only had Harry lied to her, her entire life, she had denied her real father an opportunity to be a part of her life. Whatever reasons her mother had had for not telling him, the fact remained that Jay had never been given the option to reject him herself.

"Jamie," he repeated softly and his shoulders rose and fell with silent laughter. "Kind of seals the deal, I guess."

He wanted to get away. He needed to be on his own for a while to decide on his next move.

"How 'bout you?" he asked. "Sounds like it's time you and your mom talked."

"And say what? I know you've been lying to me my entire life and my dad isn't really my dad?"

Her fingers made a stabbing motion into the bottom of her glass with the straw. "He's nearly as bad anyway – going along with it."

"I'm sure to him, you_ are_ his daughter."

"He's always preferred Ed," she mumbled sullenly.

"Sure you ain't imagining that?"

Ignoring him, she suddenly asked, "Why did you come back? Ed said you've been living on Jersey, not in America. Why've you come back to London?"

"Lots of reasons. The relationship I was in finally broke beyond repair and I decided I wanted to start again someplace else. I bought a bar in Kingston eight months ago now…"

"Where you showcase your own talents," she said acerbically.

"Harry told you 'bout that, huh?"

Jay replied coldly, "She's told me absolutely nothing about you other than she's seen an old friend she used to work with a few times. She's told me nothing and I haven't asked because I haven't wanted to know. Ed told me about the bar. I was there last night. You weren't bad I suppose – not really my sort of thing."

That threw him. "You were there?"

"I'm not big on surprises. I wanted to know what I'd be dealing with tonight."

"Smart cookie."

"Don't patronize me."

"I wasn't."

She frowned. "Anyway, you still haven't answered my question – why London?"

"Bright lights, big city." He shrugged. "I loved London when I lived here before."

He turned around then and leant back on the balcony rail with his forearms. "Truth?"

Jay was listening.

"I missed Harry."

"Yeah, right," she laughed scornfully. "So you upped sticks and left everything behind to see my Mum when you'd had no contact for over twenty years."

"I know it must sound crazy to you but it felt like it was now or never."

"And what if she'd still been married? What if she just hadn't wanted anything to do with you? That's ridiculous!"

"Believe me, I know. It was a risk I just had to take."

"And it was all working out so nicely until now. Me and my big mouth…" she sneered.

Dempsey smiled. How many times had Harry told him about his own big mouth? It clearly ran in the family.

"Did you know you've got a kid brother? Half brother, technically," he corrected himself. "He's fifteen – Jack."

"So where's he?"

"Jersey with his mom."

"You make a habit of it then, dumping your kids?"

"Jay…" he shook his head despondently. "I didn't leave you honey. If Harry woulda told me I'd of done everythin' I could to keep us all together, I swear it."

"It doesn't bother me. I've got my family haven't I. I don't need you as well."

"'kay," he said quietly. "I can understand that."

Jay saw the hurt she had inflicted manifest itself in a sad smile and this time she relented a little.

"I don't mean to come across as hard; it's just that I've had a long time to think about it and I've been hating you for years, thinking you deserted my Mum. I know you're not the creep I'd thought you were…"

"Thanks!" he chuckled.

"… but I can't see us playing happy families if I'm honest."

"Yeah, I can appreciate that."

Fishing his wallet out of his trouser pocket, he pulled a card from it printed with his private contact details.

"We can't do this here… the whole thing's a train wreck…" He passed a hand over his forehead. "Not you – none of this is down to you, Princess. Any time you wanna talk, call me, email, come over. Any time, day or night. Whatever you wanna ask me, tell me or even if you just need to scream, rant, cry… I'll be there, okay? After twenty-two years, I can honestly say I'll be there."

Jay accepted the card with reluctance, refusing to look at the words printed there.

Dempsey took a step back. "Think I'm gonna call it a night."

"You're going now?" asked Jay with surprise.

"If I don't, I'll end up saying somethin' I may regret. I can't pretend to your mom we haven't had this conversation and now definitely ain't the time to bring it up with her."

The spark seemed to have left him Jay realised.

"I'll make some excuse and get goin'."

He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. "Don't forget, if you wanna talk, I'll be there, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," she nodded.

"Bye, honey."

He found his way back to Harry on autopilot. Chas was there, having detoured to the bar for more drinks for everyone and there were several more people grouped aroound the table he didn't recognise.

"Mate, I was just about to come and fetch you back," Chas grinned, pushing another Scotch into his hand.

Harry was suddenly at his side, leaning against him.

"Hello, darling. I thought we'd lost you," she laughed, slipping an arm through his. She was extremely 'merry'.

"I've gotta go," he told her, extricating her arm from his and placing his glass back on the table.

"What? Why?" she demanded, clearly dismayed.

"There's some kind of emergency at the bar and I need to get back."

"James! No! Can't Julius sort it out, whatever it is?"

Her right hand was fingering the cummerbund he wore around his waist and she was pouting suggestively. "Or was it him who rang with some silly excuse to get you away from me?" she asked sulkily.

"No, really, I gotta go."

He was feeling remarkably sober now.

"So are you coming back to my place later?" she asked.

She'd had plans; she'd been going to make him breakfast – a leisurely breakfast. She'd imagined them both sitting at the kitchen table, she in her bathrobe and he in the pyjama shorts and t-shirt he'd slept in. They'd be relaxed and comfortable with each other, recounting the events of the party. And then she would tell him about his daughter when an opportune moment arose. And James would say… But that part she couldn't imagine, wouldn't let herself dwell on for longer than a few seconds. She never let her imagination go beyond that initial shocked expression.

"I don't know yet. I'm gonna play it by ear. I'll be in touch, okay?"

He didn't give her a chance to respond but moved swiftly to Chas, apologised to the couple he was speaking to and explained quickly that he had to go – said he was sorry, thanked all concerned and then grabbing up his dinner jacket from the back of a chair, flew down the stairs like the devil was at his heels.


	67. Chapter 67

_Chapter 67_

**So here's the next chapter. Sorry it's taken so long but other things just sort of took over. Chapter 68 won't take anywhere near as long because most of it's written already. ****Before you read, try listening to this song on YouTube – it's real mood-music and totally sets the tone for the chapter. It's by Neil Diamond (1976)**

**Credit goes to Slyquin for The Brooklyn Bridge - it arrived at a very opportune moment ;-)**

**I hope you enjoy reading and don't forget to review!**

Lady-oh, Lady-oh,  
I walked the streets again last night  
I saw you in the city light  
Like a vision,  
Lady-oh

Lady I, Lady I,  
I've been waitin' around  
Such a long, long time  
Believin' I could make you mine  
Just wanting you  
Lady-oh

But here I am and there you are  
Much too far to even hear me  
Hurts a lot,  
You know it does, it hurts a lot  
Oh, Lady-oh,  
Am I gonna ever learn  
What I never learned, before

City lights, city lights  
Burn so warm and they burn so bright  
But me, I walk the city night  
To forget you,  
Lady-oh

But here I am and there you are,  
Much too far to even hear me  
Hurts a lot, you know it does, it hurts a lot  
Hey, Lady-oh,  
Am I gonna ever learn  
What I never learned before

_He could see her standing there, way off in the distance. _

_She was part of the reason for him being here, freezing his ass off on this bitterly cold November night. He'd been watching her for the best part of an hour. She was beautiful; serene and majestic, a noble and gracious lady and he had to admit that she caused his heart to swell a little every time he saw her_

"_You okay, fella?"_

_Dempsey turned his head away from her to find a uniformed cop beside him._

"_Sure." He passed a hand over his mouth. "Why wouldn't I be?"_

_The cop shrugged. "You was standin' here when I walked by nearly an hour since and you're still here now."_

"_There a law against it?"_

"_No," said the cop, patiently, "but it's after midnight and minus two out here. You got some thinkin' to do, I'd be happier if you did it at home rather than The Brooklyn Bridge."_

_With a half smile, Dempsey resumed his quiet contemplation of Lady Liberty who, in the brightly lit night, appeared as not much more than a burning candle._

"_I ain't no jumper, pal. I'm too pretty to be scraped up off asphalt and besides, I wouldn't wanna subject you to all that paperwork." His gaze dropped to the traffic flying past beneath them on the lower level of the bridge. "Filled in a couple o' D55's myself… like pullin' teeth."_

"_You a cop?" asked the uniform, surprised._

"_Used to think so."_

_Dempsey put his hand out and they shook._

"_Detective Lieutenant Jim Dempsey." He pronounced 'lieutenant' the English way and laughed. "Guess I'll be movin' along, officer."_

_He shoved his gloved hands into the pockets of his heavy winter coat and started off._

"_Take care, Detective," the cop called after him._

_Dempsey suddenly turned around again. "You know what time it is in England?" he called._

_The cop shook his head, puzzled by the seemingly random question. "Ain't got a clue. Is it important?"_

"_It is if you're gonna be disturbin' a lady's beauty sleep."_

_He checked his watch. "So we're five hours behind which means it's gonna be six a.m. in London by the time I get home. Too early for a phonecall?"_

"_That would depend on who the lady is and what it is you wanna say to her."_

"_She's a hard assed, toffee-nosed broad with the face and body of an angel and I wanna tell her that I love her," laughed Dempsey as he walked backwards along the bridge._

_The cop scratched his head, half amused and half concerned by the guy's slightly off-kilter banter. He'd been drinking; he'd smelt alcohol quite strongly on his breath as it condensed in a white fog on the freezing night air. Whether he was a cop or not, there was no sane reason to be standing on the central walkway of The Brooklyn Bridge in sub-zero temperatures by himself for so long just staring out into the night._

"_You should go easy, fella. With a line like that, she might wanna jump on the next 'plane over here."_

"_That's the Christmas present I'm hopin' for."_

_Dempsey hunkered deeper down into his coat and briefly scanned the magnificent Manhattan skyline before walking purposefully away._

_Somehow, the cop knew he wasn't going to get his Christmas wish. Lieutenant Dempsey had ended up here for a reason; he was at a low ebb, things weren't going great for him and he couldn't imagine one phone call was going to solve all his problems._

_The apartment wasn't so bad. _

_He'd made an effort to make it a little more homey with a few prints on the walls, some new drapes, scatter cushions and rugs. But no matter how much 'stuff' he crammed into it, it was still empty. He got up in the mornings alone and went to bed at night alone with no end in sight. Before coming back to New York, Harry had filled his life in a way that he had never dreamed he could want and now he felt a huge void where she used to be. He remembered the way it had been when Simone had insidiously moved herself into his apartment. He had felt suffocated by her presence after a while. From the moment they had begun living together, he had realised how over-powering she was, that she talked too much, laughed too loud, behaved inappropriately at times – she was too much like him. And it was then that he had discovered just how dependent she was on drink. It magnified her personality to the point of embarrassment. His transfer to London had got him neatly out of that situation but when she had come over for a visit that time, it had made him realise how much he himself had changed. It had also gone some way to making him see how Harry viewed him. It had been a turning point – finding out that he needed Harry to like him and that her opinion of him was so important. In a way, he had a lot to thank Simone for. But he had to acknowledge that whilst he had grown up and calmed down a little, to someone like Lady Harriet Makepeace, he was a handful. How could he ever have hoped to fit into her world? That she had accepted him at all had been extraordinary; that she had loved him was a minor miracle._

_He had found the woman he wanted to share the rest of his days with and yet here he was, thousands of miles away from her, pretending he was picking up the reins of his old life. It didn't make sense – it was stupid. They should be together, whatever the obstacles._

_After hanging his coat up on one of the hooks on the back of the front door, Dempsey kicked off his shoes, went through to use the bathroom and then settled himself on a stool at the kitchen breakfast bar with a glass of milk, the telephone before him. He pulled it a little closer, the ringer tinkling as it shifted. He wouldn't be doing this stone cold sober, he knew, so did that mean it was a mistake doing it at all? But he wasn't drunk – the stingingly cold air of Brooklyn Bridge had sharpened his senses, piercing his brain with shots of fresh, icy oxygen making him strangely alert._

"_Okay."_

_He breathed deeply and squeezed his mouth with stiff fingers in that old, self-pacifying gesture. He looked at his watch and then checked the clock on the cooker to be sure. It was a few minutes after one making it just after six in London._

_He hooked his forefinger into a random number on the dial and swung it around to the left before letting it go. He repeated the process a few more times, steeling his nerve._

"_Okay," he said again._

_He got as far as the international dial code and the first three digits before dropping the receiver back down. It was too hard – the whole thing was too hard. He couldn't ask her to give up everything for him. But like his old man had always said, 'you don't ask, you don't get'._

_Yeah, and look where it had got him!_

_After downing half his milk, he wiped a hand across his mouth and once again picked up the receiver._

_Dempsey waited, hearing a series of clicks as he went through the exchange, ringing out at the other end, more clicks and then:_

"_This had better be good, Sir," Harry groaned, nestling back down into the pillow with the receiver against her ear. Unfortunately, at six o'clock in the morning, it probably was._

"_What's with the formality, Makepeace?"_

_Harry dragged herself up into a sitting position, the darkness tumbling around her as she tried to assimilate the words she had just heard._

"_It's me, baby."_

_All her senses lurched._

"_James!"_

_She reached out to switch the bedside lamp on and sat back from the sudden glare._

"_It's early." She swallowed down the sudden stirrings of panic._

"_Nah, it's real late."_

_Harry pushed her fringe out of her eyes as she asked, "Is something wrong?"_

_Dempsey laughed ironically. "I'm over here, you're over there… what could possibly be wrong?"_

"_What are you ringing for?"_

_Her heart was beating fast. His voice was hurting._

"_You know why."_

"_Why don't you enlighten me?" The defences were up now. He'd been drinking – she could hear it._

"_I'm missin' you."_

"_There isn't much I can do about that." Hard. Cold._

"_Yeah, there is."_

_She didn't ask. She let the expected question hang suspended there in the ether until he answered it himself._

"_Let me come home, baby."_

_She had never known emotional pain like it – not even when he'd left. It felt like he was ripping open the semi-healed wounds, tearing apart her heart and devouring it. She squeezed her eyes shut and just sat there, fingers kneading at the quilt she had pulled up to her chest._

"_We could work somethin' out," he carried on, "we could move to another part of the country. How 'bout we both get transfers. Wouldn't have to be SI-10. I was thinkin' maybe Kent, so's you'd be closer to Freddy. Or we could both just get out; do somethin' totally different and forget about bein' cops. The job ain't worth it, Harry, not to me. I've tried livin' without you and I can't do it no more."_

_He didn't know what he was saying. He hadn't thought it through, at least, not sober. He couldn't give up everything to be with her, diving head first into a new life for the sake of one woman – not Dempsey._

"_It's impossible," she replied woodenly, "you must see that."_

"_No. I don't. I only see you." He sounded excited and nervous at the same time. "Every time I close my eyes I see you. Every woman walks by, it's you. Please, baby… I need you."_

_She heard the catch in his voice and it was as though he had stabbed her through the heart._

"_It wouldn't work," she threw back desperately._

"_How d'ya know until you try it?" He tried to laugh off her negativity. "We're so good together – we can't give up like this."_

_Dempsey was on his feet now, the telephone base clamped in his hand, the handset held hard to his ear. Silently, he pleaded with her to agree._

"_I'm sure you'll feel differently in the morning, James. You've had too much to drink and it's making you maudlin," she told him almost casually._

"_You think this is too much? You shoulda seen me last night… and the night before, and the night before that. I made a big mistake leavin' without you…"_

"_No, you didn't. It was a clean break. You said last time we spoke that we shouldn't even keep in touch."_

_Harry felt so alone in her empty bed, Dempsey's voice hollow and insubstantial in her ear, a phantom haunting her with words._

_What if she told him; it wasn't just her any more, there would be a child involved too. What if she told him the romantic little world of desperate lovers he envisaged would actually be filled with nappy changing and feeding, their nights together no longer punctuated with the cries of passion in each other's arms but by the fretful and endless squalling of a baby._

_She should tell him. He had a right to know. Whether he wanted to acknowledge the child or not, he was the father and he needed to know that he was to be instrumental in bringing a new life into the world._

_But his next words stilled her tongue._

"_I don't want nobody else but you. I've been back here for weeks now – I got my old friends, I got family but it don't mean nothin' without you. I just need you, Harry. Remember how we talked about a desert island – leavin' it all behind? Well, why not?"_

_She heard his quick, anxious laughter. "Not a desert island but someplace hot, somewhere off the beaten track. We could visit India; spend a few months there just bummin' around, sleeping under the stars. I wanna sleep under the stars with you, angel. I don't want anybody else – I just want you and me."_

_But now that could never be because that would mean the sacrifice of her unborn child who she had now accepted as a part of her._

_Harry shook her head, her tears making her response unintelligible._

"_We could do it," he pushed._

"_It's too late," she said, loud and succinct this time._

"_Why? How is it too late?"_

"_You don't understand," she suddenly sobbed. "You're too late!"_

_She had to tell him now and he would hate her for putting him in this position. He would feel trapped; obligated to try to make a go of it and gradually he would learn to resent her for it or worse, resent the baby. Didn't she always used to think how unlikely it was that James could even stay faithful? Wasn't that why she had resisted him for so long? She remembered back in February when she realised she didn't want to hold him at arms' length any longer, telling herself she ran a high risk of being just another notch on his bedpost. And she had accepted it because wanting him that badly had given her no choice._

_But if she chose James now, would it last? Even if he was still around next year and the year after that, could it last forever? That, she couldn't guarantee and despite his obvious feelings now, neither could he. And supposing he could accept the baby, the pressures and responsibilities of a child added into the equation would surely split them wide apart faster than any roving eye._

"_Whadya mean, I'm too late?" Dempsey paced the kitchen floor, six feet to the door, six feet back to the breakfast bar with the phone clutched against his chest. "Harry?" he asked when she didn't answer._

_He stopped pacing, frozen to the spot._

"_There's someone else. Is that what you're saying? There's somebody else?"_

_Harry nodded but Dempsey just heard the soft movement of bedclothes and the slick wetness of her fingers as she wiped ineffectually at her cheeks. She gave a gasping sigh, trying to fight back the sobs._

"_Harry!" he demanded._

"_Yes, alright," she cried, "there's somebody else."_

_Somebody she hadn't even met yet but who already was so precious to her that she was willing to give up everything._

_Grimly, he asked, "Who?"_

_The dye had been cast now – she had made the decision._

"_No one you know."_

"_But he means so much that you're gonna throw away any chance we might have… is that what you're sayin', huh?"_

_His calmness bore an undercurrent of anger._

"_You're a real bitch, Harry, you know that?"_

_She flinched._

"_It wouldn't have worked…"_

"_And you can be so sure that it will with this new guy? Shit!" He slammed the phone down on the counter top. "I can't even believe I'm sayin' that! I've been gone a month and already you got a replacement. You're a fast worker, Makepeace. You have him on standby?"_

"_It's nothing. It doesn't mean anything except that I've moved on. You should too… it's for the best."_

"_It's for the best," Dempsey mimicked bitterly. "That 'nice' saying the English have to get you to do somethin' you don't wanna do."_

"_There was too much to go wrong… always something getting in the way."_

"_Exactly!" he cried in exasperation. "So let's get away from it all… from everyone and everything. The two of us can start over someplace else – anywhere, you name it."_

"_And then what would we have left? We'd have nothing in common."_

_It was funny but instinctively she knew that it wouldn't have mattered. They were on the same wavelength, there was something between them that acted like glue and they would always have that._

_Slowly, Dempsey sank down onto the stool._

"_I love you, Harry and you love me… I know it. Nobody 'made' that happen. It came from us for whatever reason. Opposites attract – everybody knows that."_

"_It isn't enough," she told him quietly._

"_But I can't… " Dempsey smeared the sudden tears away with the heel of his hand, "I can't be without you, princess."_

"_You were right to go back to America, James. We'd reached a dead end here."_

_Even to her own ears, Harry sounded remarkably detached now._

"_I don't believe I'm hearin' this! You don't care anymore. Out of sight, out of mind."_

"_It was what you wanted, remember?" she asked with a deadness that made Dempsey close his eyes against it. "When I rang you, you said you wanted to forget me. Do you remember that, James? Was I supposed to read something else into that?"_

"_I got it wrong. I got it so wrong. I need to be with you, Harry."_

"_And what about me?" she asked harshly. "What about what I want? I've already told you, it's too late. It's over. I think you should just stay away now for both our sakes._

"_Uh, uh." Dempsey scrubbed his fingernails viciously through the hair at the back of his neck. "Nah, see, I ain't buyin' it. It can't happen that fast, this change of heart, meetin' some guy. You don't want it to end this way any more than I do."_

"_It's already ended, you're just trying to resurrect it."_

_The line crackled and Harry held the phone more tightly, holding on fast for what she knew to be the last few moments._

_Hearing the finality in her voice, Dempsey shot back despairingly, "Give me another chance, Princess. Get on the plane next week – come for Thanksgiving. We can spend it together just like we'd planned. Please, baby…"_

_Harry cradled her brow, her hand shaking._

_Give him another chance, like it was his fault? Like she was blaming him somehow. Did she make him feel that way? _

_Right at this moment, Harry hated herself._

"_I can't."_

_Her head was spinning._

"_I… no." Her hand went to her mouth. "I can't."_

_She was going to be sick._

_With a small, shuddering groan, she thrust the receiver down and stumbled from the room, her near hysterical sobs renting the air._


	68. Chapter 68

Chapter 68

Sitting on the stone Roman bench opposite the fountain, Dempsey watched the sun rise.

It was a beautiful sight, even to his tired eyes. He still hadn't really figured out how he felt – it was completely outside most people's emotional experience, certainly his. He just knew it hurt. At least he understood now why she had insisted that he didn't know her any more – that people changed. And he also knew why she'd drawn the line at sleeping with him, her guilt-ridden conscience wouldn't allow it. He had to give her credit for that he supposed. But then, why should he? This whole thing was down to her. She'd had twenty-three years to tell him about his daughter and in the end it was Jay herself who had to clue him in. The kid had been walking around with this inside of her half her life, for Christ's sake! He had an adult daughter who had grown up despising him for jumping ship. It wasn't right.

Supposing, just supposing that those so-called irrational and unfounded fears he had harboured back then had contained a modicum of truth. He wasn't exactly sound breeding stock when it came to English heritage – not really fit to impregnate a Winfield woman. Maybe the liberal minded Freddy Winfield had decided his heiress daughter had overstepped the mark and that was why she'd married Philip Cavanagh so quickly, to cover up their mistake or at least gloss over it. But from what he recalled Harry telling him, the marriage hadn't taken place until fourteen months after they split meaning Cavanagh had taken on a ready-made family – his family.

She'd had to give up her career to have his daughter and although she could've had him too, she had never even asked. She'd made that break with SI-10 and he would've done the same for them – in a heartbeat. But in the end, he really hadn't been good enough for her so she'd had someone of a better social standing raise his kid.

Dempsey suddenly realised that the early morning bird song was quite deafening and he automatically raised his head. His neck was stiff and he massaged the muscles a little.

Harry had willfully kept him in ignorance. He'd had the right to know. If she hadn't kept the child, if she'd had a termination when it was nothing but a tiny bundle of tissue, nerves and fibres, maybe he could've understood. What had she been thinking – that his input was irrelevant or didn't count? And did she know before he left for The States or after?

He was cold sitting here, chilled to the bone. The thin, weak sunlight that splayed across the treetops wasn't low enough to reach him yet and he gave a slight shiver.

So this was Sunday morning and it had started very differently to how he had imagined and certainly was nothing like he'd hoped for.

"Oh, Harry," he murmured quietly before pushing an exploratory hand about the scrub of his chin and cheeks. It was true what they said, about it being a thin line between love and hate. Dempsey felt himself to be walking that line right now. Oh, yeah, if he let himself, he could hate her with a vengeance. But allowing hate a foothold where love resided, that way lead to madness.

For the second time since he'd come out here, Dempsey took his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket and slipping it open, slid out a small concertinaed square of battered card. Carefully, he unfolded it to reveal the strip of passport booth photographs - four different poses. That was what you got back then, he smiled, four different ones, each unique. He ran his thumb lightly across the first. Headshot – him and Harry, cheek to cheek and smiling. The second, their smiles wider, his head turning to hers. The third and his favourite, both their profiles as they kissed. You could see they were grinning and Harry's fingers were just visible as they pulled the back of his head towards her. The fourth had gone to pot. He remembered so clearly grabbing hold of her. "Money shot!" he'd laughed as he attempted to get her into a compromising position within the confines of the little booth. Consequently, only Dempsey's head was in shot along with a glimpse of blonde hair and a restraining arm.

He continued to stare at the memories for the next few minutes, a grim smile frozen upon his lips. The photographs were pretty dog-eared now and he knew every crease and bend, every mark and every scratch. He'd had them with him all these years, tucked away in his wallet. When he'd got together with Juliette, instead of doing the decent thing and throwing them out with the garbage, he had hidden them behind the ripped lining of his wallet. And when the wallet eventually had to be replaced, he'd torn open the new lining and slipped them in there instead. He'd hated the subterfuge and the implication, as though he should feel guilty and that the photographs were somehow unacceptable and distasteful – a rubber in the wallet of an embarrassed teenaged youth.

Carefully, Dempsey put them away - upgraded since his return to London to the clear plastic window behind the picture of Jack.

Was he crazy; hankering after her all these years? Were they the actions of a sane man, leaving his entire life behind him in the hopes of finding a lost love? And had he been holding a torch for so long only to have it extinguished now? They were questions he didn't want answers to. Harry had never loved him enough, that much was becoming clear. A woman so desperately in love as she had lead him to believe she was wouldn't have kept his child from him and married another man when that child was only a few months old.

Jamie. His little girl's name was Jamie and she had grown up hating her own father because he hadn't been there.

Dempsey suddenly felt immensely tired. Hunching forward, he dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes. There was a throbbing ache just starting up – too much thinking and not enough sleeping. Maybe if he went to bed now he could manage a few hours. He felt sick, his head was dark and swimmy with exhaustion.

Slowly, he got to his feet. He was going to vanquish this nightmare for a few hours but he knew that when he awoke, it would begin again and sooner or later he had to confront Harry. Iit seemed their relationship hadn't ended where he'd thought it had. Because of Jay, there would always be a connection between them but he just needed to know how he could ever hope to live with that level of deceit.

At Kettleworth Avenue, Harriet Cavanagh was sleeping peacefully, still blissfully unaware that the warm hours of darkness had held such trauma for others.

She had enjoyed herself last night although for a short time after Dempsey's hurried departure it had fallen a little flat for her, particularly when only minutes later, Jay also came to say she was leaving. The poor girl had a splitting headache, she said and even in Harry's inebriated condition, she could quite clearly see she was unwell. But Harry stayed until the end, spending the rest of the night mainly in the company of Chas and Alice Jarvis. At one point, curiosity and the umpteenth glass of white wine prompted her to go over to Philip and Catherine whom she had caught looking her way. Rather awkwardly, Philip had introduced them but Harry had been determined to make sure that Catherine, unlike Dempsey, didn't make the mistake of thinking that there was possibly still something between herself and her ex-husband and so monopolised Catherine shamelessly with _girlie_ conversation. By the time Harry had finished with her, Philip's girlfriend thought it very likely she had acquired a new best friend.

"So where's our American friend got to?" Philip had asked casually.

"He's having to sort out an emergency at the bar," she replied.

Perversely, he had glanced at the bar behind them, allowing his gaze to run the length of the optics before turning back to say, "Oh, you mean _his _bar?"

"You two should come along one night," she'd told him territorially.

"Kings Cross, isn't it?"

Refusing to rise to the bait, she had answered affably, "No, darling, Kingston. Your memory is atrocious these days."

"Ah, of course, Kingston-upon-Thames."

"It's funny, isn't it," Catherine had put in unwittingly, "how you can remember things that happened twenty years ago but you'd be hard put to remember what you had for dinner last night."

She hadn't understood the look that had passed between them but it hadn't seemed friendly and she was quite relieved when Harry went back to the Jarvis'.

By the time Harry surfaced the following day it was after 10:00am.

Feeling rather _delicate_, she went downstairs in her thin jersey dressing gown and sat at the kitchen table with a pot of tea, idly making notes on an A4 pad for a feature she had been commissioned to write for a forthcoming exhibition at The British Museum. She hadn't undertaken any new work for a few weeks now, not since she had started seeing Dempsey on a regular basis in fact. She had found it a struggle to meet the deadline on the last piece with him around and although the museum feature wasn't wanted for another month, it had already been on the back-burner for some time now.

It wasn't long before the notes dried up, however and she began humming distractedly, the biro pressed to her lips.

Maybe she should give him a ring; see how it went last night, ask what the emergency had been at the bar. But he might just turn up unannounced with a bunch of flowers, a wide grin and an invitation to Sunday lunch at a country pub – that was his style.

Instead, she decided to call Jay and ask how she was feeling this morning. There was no answer however and the call went to voicemail.

"Hello, my darling," said Harry. "Just thought I'd call to see if you're okay. You were looking decidedly green about the gills last night. Was it just the booze or are you sickening for something? I'll try you again later anyway. Bye."

Next, she made toast and finished off the pot of tea before going up for a leisurely soak in the bath. The trouble was, she lay there ruminating over what she was going to say to James when he showed up. Still, at least she'd got over the first hurdle of him meeting Jay and there only remained the small matter of revealing her paternity. Was it a good or bad thing that he had a son as well now? Surely Jay's existence would be marginally easier to accept when he'd already had experience of raising a son because it wasn't unknown territory. But that wasn't sound reasoning. Even if he'd fathered half a dozen children, finding out he had a twenty-three year old daughter was going to be a shock. She tried to put herself in his shoes – how would she feel to be given that information? It was hard to get past anger, rage, blind fury, that she had had a child stolen from her life. But she was thinking with her womb – from a mother's perspective, one that if she dwelt on too long, had the potential to actually frighten her. Dempsey would feel differently - wouldn't he?

By two o'clock, she had still heard nothing from him which seemed a little odd. She wondered if the 'emergency' had been more serious than she had assumed. Maybe a member of staff had been taken ill or possibly the police had been called to some situation that Julius had been unable to handle.

At four o'clock she gave in and rang his mobile.

It's me," she said to the voicemail service. "I hope you don't think you've got away with deserting me last night, Dempsey. I was going to cook you Sunday lunch but I'm not sure you deserve it now…or maybe you do," she added with a smile, "my Yorkshire puddings usually turn out looking like they've been excavated. Anyway, let me know if you're still coming over – if not, we'll arrange something for another day."

But she really needed to see him now. Harry was so wound up with the thought of telling him about Jay that keeping it in any longer would surely be detrimental to her sanity.

"I hope the emergency was nothing too terrible, by the way," she added, suddenly aware of how self-centred she must be coming across as, concerned only that her plans had been upset. "Talk to you later then. Bye." she said softly.

Bloody voicemail!

But then for the millionth time, she wondered if she was doing the right thing in telling him at all. Even if he could accept the truth, would he be prepared to carry on with any sort of relationship? It would mean telling Jay that Phil wasn't her real father, wouldn't it? What would happen if Philip didn't want her to know? No, Philip realised it was inevitable.

_At least have the decency to keep me informed, _he had said that afternoon he had turned up at the house when James was there.

And Jay? Would it be cruel to tell her? Did she have to know, even? Maybe Dempsey would be willing to keep it between themselves. So many variables, so many outcomes and would any of them be favourable? Not to everybody, that was for sure.

Not being able to settle to anything, Harry watched an Alan Bennett play on television whilst eating a plate of cheese and onion sandwiches – if Dempsey decided to come round now, it was tough.

Half way through the news that followed, she heard the chime of the front doorbell. Immediately, her hands whipped through her hair and she ran her little finger across her lower lip, smudging her lipstick more evenly.

Quarter past six. He might have at least phoned ahead. She was a bag of nerves again now; her stomach dancing in little spasms, her limbs stiff and twitchy.

God, it was too hot again tonight, humid and sticky. It made her remember when she had stayed at his house and they had slept in his bed together. What if that never happened again because of what she was going to confess to him tonight? She wished she was in his house now instead of her own. Somehow it would be easier to talk, she knew. There was a tranquillity within those walls, a quiet serenity. Despite the fact that emotions had been running high that night, their surroundings had brought about a curious peace within her.

She opened the door with a thousand misgivings.

"Edward! What are you doing back?"

Ed dragged himself and his oversized backpack through the door.

"Don't ask. I mean, really, don't ask."

Harry tried to gauge exactly what that meant from his expression as he barrelled into the hall.

"You're alright though, aren't you?" she asked apprehensively.

"Yeah, I'm good. I wouldn't say no to a coffee, Mum."

He dumped the backpack on the floor and gave her that helpless, resigned look that Harry always fell for.

"Lyd got a call from her Mum this morning. Her granddad's had a heart attack and he's in hospital – it's touch and go apparently. We had to leave just before The Killers were due on stage!"

"Edward!"

"No, I didn't mean it like that… well, not really."

He trailed after her into the kitchen.

"How's Lydia taken it?" Harry wanted to know.

"Yeah, she was gutted too…" Ed began. "Oh, you mean about her granddad?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, darling, I mean about her granddad."

"She was a bit upset, yeah."

He opened a cupboard door and perused the contents for a moment before seizing on a large bag of tortilla chips.

"Lost my door key as well. Any chance of some dinner now I'm home?"

Harry rolled her eyes, arms folded across her chest. Funny how ones children could always be relied upon to bring one right back down to earth.


	69. Chapter 69

_Chapter 69_

"_Look, Harry, I know I could be way off beam here but…"_

_Chas lowered his head to hers as he pretended to study the noticeboard in the corridor with her._

"…_are you…" he faltered and Harry turned to him, arms folded._

"_Am I what?"_

_The pained and slightly embarrassed expression on his face was making her nervous._

"_Well, it's just that with Alice being…"_

_Harry felt herself stiffen, shoulders hunching inwards as she waited for the words to fall down upon her._

"… _I've noticed that there are… certain things…"_

_He was really struggling now. Harry kept her eyes levelled on the floor._

"_Are you…?"_

"_In the club?" she finished for him._

_Their eyes met._

"_Just that I've noticed little things… like with Alice…"_

_Harry cleared her throat. "How terribly astute of you, Chas," she smiled. "We'll make a copper out of you yet."_

"_So you are?"_

_Despite the fact that he'd guessed correctly, he still appeared quite taken aback. _

_There was really no point in denying it. She was about to resign – not that she needed to give her pregnancy as the reason for doing so but she considered Chas if not a friend, then a very close colleague and he deserved the truth. The irony of that did not escape her notice._

"_First scan next week."_

"_Scan!" Chas exclaimed loudly._

"_Chas!" she hissed. "I would appreciate some discretion if you don't mind"_

"_Yeah, yeah, sorry." _

_He took her lightly by the elbow and guided her a few steps further along the corridor, away from the door to the SI-10 offices._

"_You're three months gone?"_

_She nodded. "Almost."_

"_Wow," he breathed. "Alice goes for her scan tomorrow."_

"_Right," she acknowledged, feeling a bit uncomfortable discussing with Chas what up until now she had only talked to her doctor and Angela about._

_Chas put his hands casually into his trouser pockets. "And, err… what about Dempsey?"_

"_What about him?" she replied smoothly._

"_Don't tell me he did a flit."_

_It was, of course, a natural enough assumption to make and in Chas' place, she would have thought the same. Dempsey was a ladies' man, a charmer and anybody's initial reaction would be to think the worst of him._

_She shook her head. "It had absolutely nothing to do with his going."_

_Chas frowned. "But didn't he…?"_

_Harry raised her eyebrows, knowing exactly what was running through his mind._

"_He does know, doesn't he?" Chas asked dubiously._

"_Nope," she answered lightly._

"_Why?"_

"_Because…" How to sum it up; the uncertainty, the fear, the doubt. "It's not really Dempsey, is it and the fact is, he left for a reason – well, lots of reasons actually."_

"_And you've got a bloody good reason for him to come back."_

_She nodded again, a cynical smile directed at the ground. "Alright Chas, so let's say he comes back. Then what?"_

"_I don't know but it's got to be better than him being over there, hasn't it? Or maybe you don't want him back… or he doesn't want you, I don't know. I didn't know you two were even together until a few days before MacKintyre's court case, did I?"_

"_Yeah, well, that was part of the problem. It's complicated." She scratched her nose. "It put a big strain on our relationship, having to keep it quiet and I don't think either of us had realised how much of a strain."_

_There was a pause before Chas said, "But you're having a baby, Harry. Doesn't that change everything? You'll have to jack the job in – the pressure will be off, won't it?"_

"_Oh, Chas, if only it were that simple." She rubbed at her upper arms._

"If y_ou don't want him back, I can understand that but – not telling him, that's something else. It's his baby every bit as much as it's yours."_

"_Fifty-fifty?" she asked, thickly._

_He understood what she was getting at._

"_He's still got a right to know."_

"_Maybe so but I'm not the sort of woman to manacle a man to her with a child. I could never do that to James – or the baby. Can you honestly see him as a family man?"_

"_He might surprise you."_

"_Exactly – might. I'm not willing to take that risk. I don't doubt he'd face up to his responsibilities but that isn't what a family is about, is it?"_

"_So you're not even going to try?"_

"_I've made my decision. I just don't think he'd be content to play the family man. I know he'd get tired of me sooner or later and although I'm sure he'll make a first class father one day, now possibly isn't the time."_

_Chas could see Sean Kirkland coming up the stairs onto the outer corridor through the glass door panel on this corridor._

"_You're in love with him still," Chas accused gently._

_Harry sighed, now watching the approach of Kirkland herself._

"_And what difference does that make?"_

"_Come to me and Alice for dinner tomorrow night."_

_Harry couldn't hide her surprise. "Dinner? Don't you think you should consult Alice first before you go handing out invitations to single pregnant women?"_

"_It was her suggestion, actually."_

"_I see," she said, eyeing him with a mock affront. "Been voicing your suspicions to the wife?"_

"_Thought you could swap baby bootee knitting patterns."_

"_Mmm. I'd love to come for dinner but the day I pick up a pair of knitting needles will be the day they close down the baby boutique in Harrods."_

"_Alright?" asked Kirkland, pushing his way through the swing door._

"_Alright, mate," Chas replied._

_There was something about Kirkland that just didn't sit right with him. A bit too much swagger; bringing the 'cool customer' routine back to the office instead of leaving it out on the street where it belonged. Harry had been very non-committal on the matter but then, she'd had a lot on her mind of late._

_Kirkland held up two large white polystyrene take-away containers in front of her._

_She raised an eyebrow._

"_Cheese or tuna?" he asked._

"_Jacket potatoes?" she asked, hopefully._

"_Salad boxes," he corrected._

_A tiny smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I'm impressed, Kirkland."_

_Grabbing the box marked with a felt-tipped 'C' on the lid, she told him smoothly, "I might even let you stay."_

_Kirkland sauntered away, headed for the SI-10 offices. "You never know," he said aloud, "I might even decide I want to."_

_As he disappeared through into the inner sanctum of SI-10, Harry smirked, "He's growing on me."_

"_Is he?" asked Chas in surprise._

"_Mmm. Like Boletus edulis."_

"_Sorry?"_

_She opened up her salad box and took up the plastic fork. "Porcini mushrooms," she told him, sifting through the tiny cubes of cheddar cheese, red bell peppers and wild rocket. "Fungus."_

_Chas laughed silently. "Well, I don't suppose there'll be any Boletus edu… whatever, on the menu tomorrow night but Alice does a cracking shepherd's pie."_

_Kirkland watched her pouring their coffee from behind the cover of his salad box lid._

_He really couldn't make her out at all. _

_First impressions had told him she was an uptight, hard-faced, out-and-out bitch and more often than not his instinct was correct. But there was something about her that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Sometimes, he saw flashes of congeniality and even on occasion, an unexpected pleasantness that surprised him. When they had first met, he had seen an attractive woman faded with tiredness and sickened by unhappiness, a woman who had lost a lot of weight in a very short space of time. Lately, however, she had seemed to blossom and there was a glow to her cheeks and a curve to her hips that made her very easy on the eye. _

_Although some subtle probing amongst his new colleagues had revealed little, he got the impression that her last partner's departure had hit her hard. Some American; been over here on a transfer and went back after three years, no clear reason had been given but Fry had said he and Makepeace had worked incredibly well together – got results. But he'd also been told Dempsey was a maverick which didn't seem to fit with her method of working at all._

_Coming over with their coffees, she handed him his mug, saying, "Are you familiar with the indoor market on Kempson High Street?"_

"_I've heard of it."_

"_Good. Chap by the name of Martin Gould has a fish stall there. We're going to go along for a word – see what he can tell us about any unusual comings and goings at the docks during the early hours."_

"_One of yours, is he?" asked Kirkland._

"_Not strictly speaking. It was my last partner who 'cultivated' him but I'm sure Gould will be just as happy to receive a tenner from my purse as Dempsey's back pocket."_

_He put his hands around his coffee cup to warm them as he thought about his next question._

"_Good copper, was he? Dempsey?"_

_He watched with ill-concealed curiosity as her face was suddenly wiped clean of all expression._

_She turned to sit at her own desk._

"_He 'is' a good copper," she said as she picked up her salad. "He went back to the N.Y.P.D – he isn't dead."_

"_Sorry. It's just that you've never really talked about him."_

"_Go around two o'clock, shall we? I've got some paperwork I need to clear up first."_

_She put her head down and began to eat._


	70. Chapter 70

_Chapter 70_

**The next few 'Then' chapters are largely thanks to Slyquin who has been venting her imagination across the ether. I must confess that I'd reached a bit of an impasse up until this point but Sly has completley turned that around. This is what reviews are all about - your comments lead to emails which lead to fresh plot ideas that keep the story going.**

**I thought my ideas were dark but with Sly's input, I'm starting to worry that the two of them will never find their way out of this inky blackness!**

_It was dark by the time she got out into the car park at four-thirty._

_She got into her car and turned on the central cabin light before pulling the envelope from her handbag. Inside was the little 5"x3" scan photo they had just given her at the maternity wing of the hospital. She couldn't help but smile at the ambiguity of the image she held in her hands. If it hadn't been for the nurse pointing out the various body parts to her, she would have been hard pressed to see it as a baby at all – more a porpoise, maybe? But it was a baby; her baby, her little girl, as somehow she had always known it to be._

_For another five minutes, Harry just stared at the picture, even now, not fully able to take in the fact that she was going to be a mother to this tiny being. And the longer she sat there, the stronger the feeling became that she wanted to share this experience – she needed to – she needed Dempsey._

_Before she knew it, tears were flowing down her cheeks. It wasn't too late. It had been impossible not to acknowledge the days as they ticked away to the holiday they had planned to take together. Thanksgiving was just around the corner and her plane ticket to America was in the drawer of the sideboard. Despite everything she had told herself and those few privy to her predicament, this was not the way she wanted it to end. She had to take the chance._

_It could turn out to be painfully humiliating. Dempsey might be horrified by the idea of becoming a father and simply confirm all her darkest fears but if he didn't even know, how could he prove her wrong?_

_Angela had pleaded with her to tell Dempsey about the baby, telling her that she really had nothing to lose._

"_It's just a holiday with possibilities, darling," she had insisted, attempting to inject a little humour into the situation._

_Over at Chas and Alice's house the other night it had been a similar story although in slightly subtler terms. They both thought he deserved the benefit of the doubt because basically, Dempsey was a good man._

_But without a doubt, it was her father's opinion that meant the most._

"_If James loves you, my sweetheart – and I'm quite certain he does, then it stands to reason that a child born out of that love will be welcomed with open arms."_

"_That's quite a simplistic view of it, Daddy."_

"_Possibly, but I've always thought that little girls need their daddies, or am I wrong? My only qualm is that I may lose you to America."_

_How could Freddy be so convinced of James' emotional integrity when she herself, who had grown to love him against all the odds, found it hard to believe he would be able to love her back when she had lumbered him with a child? But Daddy was seldom wrong about people and she trusted him to be right about James Dempsey now._

_Harry slid the scan photo back into the envelope with a little smile. The next forty-eight hours would hopefully tell her exactly what his views on fatherhood were._

_Glancing up, she saw a figure moving down the side of the car. The heavy-set man walked past but then veered across the front of the vehicle to stand right before her, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his camel coat. Harry sat back, disconcerted. Although it was too dark to see his features, there was something familiar about his vainglorious stance._

_Suddenly, the man was at the passenger door, yanking it open._

"_Bit parky out there, Harry," he said gruffly, manoeuvring himself inside and securing the door. "Hope you don't mind me droppin' in on you like this."_

_He indicated the building behind them. "Not in the family way, I hope."_

"_I was visiting a friend," Harry told him steadily, "if it's any business of yours." _

_She had backed up in her seat but turned now to see his face, infuriated by his behaviour. "Just what do you want, MacKintyre?"_

"_A little chat, that's all darlin'. Nothin' to get excited about."_

_Harry felt her heart beating fast from the sudden shock of the intrusion and she tried to modulate her breathing accordingly._

_MacKintyre seemed to swamp his side of the car, his long, expensive overcoat flooding onto Harry's side and she felt distaste at the close proximity._

"_I really can't imagine we have anything to 'chat' about, MacKintyre," she said with all of the self-possession she could muster._

"_Course we have! We've got things in common, you and me."_

_He smiled, his florid, over-indulged face appearing hot and shiny despite the cold he'd only just escaped from. "Lover-boy for instance. Haven't seen 'im around for a while. Where's he 'iding 'imself these days?"_

"_I haven't a clue," she snapped._

_So MacKintyre was looking for his so-called 'dirty cop', was he?_

"_You don't know?" he pushed. "Your man just upped sticks and buggered off without a word, did 'e?" His voice was laden with sympathetic sarcasm. "Well, maybe I can enlighten you, Harry… 'e's gone back to Yank Land. He turned chicken and ran away."_

_MacKintyre gave an odiously soft chicken squawk and chuckled. "I don't know, aye, Harry." He shook his head, tutting. "Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. Bloody Yanks."_

_He knew! He'd been following Dempsey's movements and he knew he'd gone._

"_Fancy clearin' off like that an' leavin' you," he carried on. "You was practically shacked up together an' all, so I 'eard."_

_He adjusted the hem of his coat where it fell across the gear stick._

"_Must be a bit lonely for you now."_

_Harry didn't respond._

"_Been thinkin' about that quite a lot, you see. 'bout 'ow it's my fault you're on yer own now. It bothers me."_

"_Please don't trouble yourself on my account," she told him tightly._

"_See, that's one of the things I like about you, darlin'; you're polite… classy. That's what's missin' from my life."_

_He moved his bulk a little closer to her._

"_When I said we'd got things in common, I wasn't jokin'. I'm sure the circles we mix in overlap on occasion – money, drugs, power, influence… the lines tend to get a bit blurred. I'm sure you're aware of that, you bein' aristocracy –one of our society nobs… a toff, aye, Lady Harriet?"_

"_Yes, I'm fully aware of the depths some people are willing to stoop to in order to get what they want."_

"_You're ambitious, I can see that but sometimes you can't get where you want to be on your own merits – it's who you know, not what you know, that's just the way it is. Sad but true. Trouble is Harry, what do you do when the 'right' people are actually the 'wrong' people? How do you climb that ladder when some of the rungs are crooked?"_

_Despite her nervousness, Harry laughed. She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. He'd lost Dempsey so now he was attempting to get her in his pocket – and possibly his bed by the sounds of it._

"_I'm just not interested."_

"_I can open doors for you…You scratch my back and I scratch yours."_

"_Not interested," she threw back more forcefully._

"_Okay, love, so let me put it this way: I like you, Harry. I think we could work well together. You've got beauty, brains, class and respectability and you'd look very nice on my arm. We could do things for each other, see?"_

_He reached out his large, meaty hand and squeezed her knee meaningfully._

_She froze._

"_Please get your hand off me," she managed. _

_To her disgust, his hand began to massage her knee, creeping slowly up her thigh._

"_Come on, sweetheart. What've you got to lose? Dempsey's gone, he couldn't hack it but I'm here for you now. Look upon me as a replacement diamond in the rough, if you like. I can do things for you that he never could; I can grease palms, advance your career. You'd be surprised who I know – the dirt I've got on certain people."_

_The panic that was flowing from every pore seemed to solidify on her skin, hardening to create an icy shell of protection._

"_I don't want what you're offering."_

_Was that really her voice, so calm and collected?_

"_You'll take it if you know what's good for you." He gave a soft chuckle as he brought himself closer to Harry, leaning in to push his face inside the collar of her coat, breathing in her perfume like it was pure oxygen. "You're a beautiful woman, Sergeant Makepeace," he muttered, his fingers slipping the button from the button hole at the lowest position between her thighs._

_She wanted to scream and struggle, to bite him and see his blood trickle but she knew it would only excite a madman like MacKintyre and whilst that icy shell stayed intact, she was safe from her own emotions._

"_And you're a mongrel, MacKintyre."_

_He laughed aloud at that. "And what was Jim Dempsey? A right Heinz 57, 'im. What made 'im any better than me in the end, aye?"_

_He had unfastened the top button of her coat now and was gazing lasciviously at the curves revealed beneath._

"_He cares," she spoke calmly._

"_Does he now?" His hand came up to stroke her hair. "He cares," he smiled. "I notice you're usin' the present tense, Harry. I thought that boat had sailed but obviously I was wrong."_

_She had made a mistake there but she refrained from further comment, instead, enduring the caress of his fingers over her hip._

"_Is 'e comin' back?" MacKintyre wanted to know._

"_I sincerely doubt it, don't you?"_

"_But you want 'im back."_

_There was nothing other than the fine knit of her cashmere sweater between his hand and her stomach and the thought of him being so near to her baby sickened her._

_When she failed to reply, he goaded, "Are you in love, Harry? Are you hurting?"_

_His hand reached her ribcage._

"_If you don't take your hands off me, I'm going to rip your windpipe out," she said, conversationally._

"_Shall I tell you what I could do to you, if I wanted to? You know, you'd be much better off 'avin' me as a friend than an enemy."_

"_It's just that I find myself with something of a stumbling block there."_

"_Yeah? What's that then?"_

"_I find you quite repulsive."_

_MacKintyre grinned down at her. "You've got some balls, I'll give you that – which only makes me wonder all the more what it would take to break you."_

_She shrugged. "As you said, I have nothing to lose."_

"_So you're not gonna play the game?"_

_Splaying his thumb over her breast, he brushed it lightly across the nipple. Still she refused to react._

"_Shame. But I would never force a lady into something she wasn't comfortable with – I'm not a monster."_

_Harry's heart was beating so fast he must surely be able to feel it._

"_But remember," he continued, "this 'mongrel' is a dog in the manger. If I can't 'ave you, the Yank 'ad better make sure 'e never sets foot on British soil again, is all I'm sayin'."_

"_Unlikely."_

"_I could even keep tabs on 'im, all the way over there, if I want. Got a pal, you see, lives in The Big Apple. 'e's quite influential… as psychopaths go."_

_MacKintyre finally got a hint of what he had been looking for. Over the years, he had become quite adept at spotting the kind of weakness that up until this point, Harry Makepeace had refused to reveal. But now he saw that bright flash of fear momentarily enter her eyes._

_It aroused him – was a source of titillation._

"_So I 'ope you ain't plannin' on visitin' Dempsey darlin' 'cause we know 'e's not good at 'andling psychopaths – psychopaths that threaten 'is bird. Mind you with 'is track record, 'e'd leave yer to it, wouldn't 'e?" He laughed again._

_But that fear had gone; she had it under control again and MacKintyre was met once more by the cold, impenetrable shell. It annoyed him. He wasn't used to this level of inner strength and certainly not in a woman._

"_You're a frosty little bint, aren't you? Liked that, did 'e? Turn 'im on?"_

"_I think this conversation is over."_

_She reached for the wheel._

_Was she dismissing him, like he was a door to door salesman or something? It made him angry._

"_We'll see."_

_He looked into those icy blue eyes again and regretted that he couldn't have her. She was strong, like him._

_He bent forward and tenderly kissed her unyielding lips._

"_We'll see, shall we?"_

_He got out of the car, a smile shielding the frustration that his failure had caused._

_As soon as the door slammed shut, Harry started the engine and pulled off. She kept herself ramrod straight, her composure intact but she couldn't hold in the high-pitched gasp of sheer terror._


	71. Chapter 71

**The song is 'That Was Yesterday' by Foreigner and was used because a few weeks ago, Slyquin said she'd been listening to it when it came up randomly on itunes and felt it was really appropriate for the story. But the funny thing is that she hadn't realised Michael & Glynis' real-life 'their song' is 'I Want To Know What Love Is' by Foreigner. How freaky is that?**

**Haveunotthought - Here's the little bit of a twist I mentioned a while ago.**

Chapter 71

"Yes, Dempsey, I do realise that a mobile phone is for your convenience and not the convenience of others but it would be nice if you answered yours once in a while, you know."

She sighed.

"This must be the fifth message I've left now and I think I'm probably coming across as a bit desperate… which I'm not… obviously."

Her tone softened.

"But I must confess, I'm starting to wonder if you're avoiding me… are you? Don't force me to ring your trained ape to find out where you are."

Harry sat down on the low garden wall next to the steps that lead up to the lawn area and sipped at her white Zinfandel.

"Is everything okay, James… with us, I mean? I haven't said something wrong… I haven't upset you?"

She took another, larger drink from her glass.

"God, listen to me, I sound like…" she gave a nervy, shuddering laugh, "… like I care," she joked softly. "Please ring back."

Harry kept the phone to her ear for a moment, her thoughts all running into each other randomly. What the hell was he playing at, making her worry like this?

She pressed the 'end call' button and clicked her tongue in agitation. He could still manage to irritate her even when he wasn't around.

It was Monday evening and she hadn't heard a word from him since last Saturday night. But if she was honest, it wasn't exactly agitation she was feeling now – it had got past that. She was feeling uncomfortable about what he may or may not know. It had crossed her mind that there had obviously been people at the party on Saturday who knew about Jay. Supposing somebody had let something slip. And Jay had seemed quite off-hand when she spoke to her this afternoon. Normally, when Harry left her a message, even if she said she'd try again, Jay would always be the one to call her back but this time Harry had rung twice more before she got to speak to her. She had seemed distracted, citing double shift patterns as the reason. Something just felt wrong – or was it merely imagination? You worried about something long enough and it took on a life of its' own, didn't it?

So she rang Dempsey's Bar.

"Hi there! Good evening. This is Dempsey's Bar and you're speaking to Jill. How may I help you?"

Frustrated, Harry was making a winding movement with her hand. She could do without the over-the-top American affectations right now.

"Hi Jill. This is Harry Cavanagh."

"Oh, hi Mrs C!"

_Mrs C!_

"Please, it's Harry."

"Oh, okay, Harry. How's it goin'?"

Alright, so she didn't like the man but she suspected she'd get rather more succinct answers out of Julius Bell.

"I was wondering if I could have a word with Julius."

"Julius?"

She was clearly surprised.

"Sure. Let me go grab him for you."

She heard the phone go down on the bar and listened to a full minute of The Eagles singing Hotel California in the background before Julius finally picked up.

"What can I do for you, Mrs Cavanagh?"

"Is… err…," she suddenly felt quite silly, "is Dempsey in tonight?" she asked.

Naturally, he answered, "So if you want Dempsey, why'd you ask for me?"

Because she didn't want to endure the humiliation of hanging on the phone whilst Dempsey explained to the person who had answered that he wasn't in.

But Julius continued, "Anyway, I thought he was with you."

"No. It's just that I haven't been able to get hold of him and I wondered…"

"You wondered what?"

"If he'd said anything to you."

Bell gave a self-satisfied grunt. "Sure. I talked to him yesterday when he rang in sick."

"He's ill?"

"I don't know. I kinda figured it was code for 'I'm puttin' it to Harry'. But I guess not."

Harry chose to ignore that. "So he's really ill?" she asked worriedly. "What did he say was wrong with him?"

"He didn't. And I didn't ask – for obvious reasons."

Hesitantly, she asked. "Did you have any problems at the bar on Saturday night? You didn't need to ring him for anything?"

"Saturday? No, everythin' was fine. Why d'you ask?"

"He was at a party with me and he left early, that's all – said there was some kind of emergency at the bar."

"No problem here. Sure the problem ain't at your end?"

"If it was, wouldn't you be the first to know, you being his bosom buddy," she scorned.

"Yeah, that's right, I would, wouldn't I?" he replied, using the same tone.

"And you might want to give him a call yourself, just to see how he is."

So Cavanagh was asking him for a favour.

"And then report back to you, maybe?" he mocked. "Hey, if he ain't takin' your calls, sweetheart, it's no concern of mine. I don't pass on schoolyard messages."

"Fine!" she snapped, "but when you do speak to him, I hope you can at least bother to ask how he's feeling."

"Nothin' wrong with him. If he was sick for real, everybody would know about it."

That made Harry smile. "I remember he was rarely ever ill but when he was, he certainly liked everyone else to suffer along with him."

"Hm. Sounds like Dempsey," he chuckled and then after a moment, added grouchily, "If you're so worried about him, why don't you go visit?"

That had been at the back of her mind but if he wasn't answering his phone to her, would he answer his door?

"I might pop over."

"Well, while you're poppin', you can tell him, seein' as he's already missed Monday rehearsals, he'd better think up somethin' terminal."

He wasn't dying but he wasn't exactly feeling on top of the world either.

He reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels and splashed some more into the glass at his side as he balanced the guitar on his knee.

"Mud in your eye, Princess," he said jovially, raising his glass in a salute before he tossed a good half of it down his throat.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, let out a quiet, belching hiccough and a sigh of satisfaction before repositioning his fingers on the fret board.

"I thought I knew you well, But all this time I could never tell," he began, his voice soft and deep. "I let you get away, Haunts me every night and every day, You were the only one, The only friend that I counted on, How could I watch you walk away, I'd give anything to have you here today."

He stopped and bent his head lower as he changed chord.

"But now I stand alone with my pride, And dream that you're still by my side…"

Another small hesitation as he changed again.

"But that was yesterday, I had the world in my hands, But it's not the end of my world, Just a slight change of plans."

He'd always loved this rock ballad; its strength and depth, the feeling of desperation, the sense of frustration and the wretched denial. Sung in a low key with just an acoustic guitar for accompaniment, the aggression melted away, leaving only a subterranean melancholy that Dempsey's talents highlighted with sublimity.

"That was yesterday, But today life goes on, No more hiding in yesterday, 'cause yesterday's gone."

In a perverse sort of way, this helped – picking up a guitar and singing to blank out his thoughts. The words he sang were just words and whilst he concentrated on playing the notes, they didn't hurt at all.

"Love, my love I gave it all, Thought I saw the light when I heard you call, Life, that we both could share, Has deserted me, left me in despair."

Another slug of Jack before the chord change.

"But now, I stand alone with my pride, Fighting back the tears, I never let myself cry."

He couldn't say what he'd been doing these past forty-eight hours exactly – there had been a lot of alcohol involved, more than was good for him. He just couldn't get his head around what she'd done – why she'd done it. Had she really had so little faith in him back then? They'd been in love – hadn't they? When he'd gone back to New York, it had finally dawned on him that nothing in his life was more important than Harry. They could have gone anywhere together and made a go of it; he'd told her that, that last time they'd talked on the phone.

"But that was yesterday, Love was torn from my hands, But it's not the end of my world, Just a little hard to understand."

He'd made her understand how he'd felt, hadn't he? He couldn't have been any clearer. He'd wanted her and a home and eventually, when she was ready, a family.

"That was yesterday, but today life goes on."

His fingers slowly and painfully picked out the notes.

No, he'd never mentioned kids to her and that had sort of been intentional – hadn't wanted to scare her. She'd been a career woman with babies being at the bottom of her agenda.

"You won't find me in yesterday's world, Now yesterday's gone."

But then, why did she go ahead and have Jay? He'd been aware of her views on abortion; unwanted pregnancies, the right to choose. Had he ever actually asked her how she felt about having kids one day, when she'd accomplished what she wanted to accomplish, when the time was right? No, he never had because as usual, he'd thought he had all the answers.

"Goodbye yesterday, Now it's over and done, Still I hope somewhere deep in your heart, Yesterday will live on."

Yeah, yesterday was living on alright. 'Yesterday' was a lovely, mixed-up twenty-two year old woman who was walking around with one helluva grudge against the world right now.

Swinging the guitar down to the side of the sofa, Dempsey took up the remains of his drink.

He'd always assumed that at that time, having a family was a definite no-go for Harry and maybe he'd been right, only getting pregnant had certainly changed her mind.

He swilled the amber liquid around in the glass for a moment. Had he ever given her a reason to believe he wanted to have that baby with her? No, he didn't suppose he ever had. But still, it had been a cold, hard truth that she'd gotten pregnant and he'd had a right to know about it, whether they'd discussed that kind of future together or not.

He suddenly felt uneasy about the whole sorry mess. She'd thought he'd make a lousy father: that was the bottom line and looking back, maybe she'd been right. But she'd never given him a chance and that cut him up inside.

Christ, what was he going to say to her? The voicemail messages were piling up. He still couldn't trust himself to act rationally around her and he guessed Harry was going to be getting a shit-load of trouble from Jay, too.

Dempsey replaced the glass on the table without finishing it – it wasn't the way. He'd been down that route once before and it'd nearly killed him. Instead, he locked up, set the alarm and took himself off to bed. It was only 8:45pm but boy, he could use the sleep.

Harry, too, had had an early night and had awoken at dawn, lying in bed for only a few minutes before her thoughts began to overload her brain and she sought refuge in the shower. But just because she was busy lathering her hair with shampoo didn't mean she was allowed a moment of respite.

He wasn't ill, she was almost certain of that. He would've answered her calls, had her running around after him, no doubt, enjoying the attention. And he hadn't been going into the bar, he'd missed a rehearsal. He must know about Jay, there could be no other explanation.

She didn't even attempt to eat breakfast with her stomach churning so violently and at 7:45am, she was ready, if 'ready' was the appropriate word.

It took nearly an hour to drive through the rush-hour traffic and she had never been so grateful for the snarl-ups. But eventually, she found herself, engine idling, a hundred yards from Dempsey's driveway.

How should she start, especially now when it seemed that he knew anyway?

She leaned forward and switched off the radio; it was no more than annoying static in her ears but had proved to be a superficial diversion on the journey over here.

Was she going to lose him – for a second time? Had her twenty-three years of silence been for nothing? So this was to be her reward for loving him then.

She reached for her handbag in the passenger seat footwell and fished around until she found the packet of paracetamol. She downed a couple, her throat protesting as she swallowed them down dry.

"I'm so sorry, James," she whispered, closing her eyes and resting her head back against the seat.

When she opened them again, he was there, standing with his back to her at the end of the drive. He wore a black and grey striped bathrobe that fell to his calves and black slippers.

There were so many colours around him; the warm, pale brown of the old stone wall, the deep green lush foliage growing up behind it, a whole array of bright blossoms visible in the front garden of the neighbouring property some distance away, a pillar-box red Fiat at the kerbside, the fresh, bright blue of the sky and there was the jewelled turquoise of the fabric clothing the arms that were fastened about James' neck.

She stared blankly for a moment, watching his head dip to kiss the woman he held to him. She watched the woman tucking her long, dark hair behind her ear as she at last moved away. She was smiling, saying something that made James smile too and then they both laughed. The sound carried faintly to Harry and she brought her hand up to her throat as a gag of revulsion burst from her lips.

She realised now just how wrong she had been. Dempsey wasn't ill but then neither did he know that Jay was his daughter.

She watched as Jay climbed into her little red Fiat and drove away.


	72. Chapter 72

**_Unpleasant things happening in this chapter - you have been warned!_**

**_Thanks to everyone who has hassled me to update recently - it works._**

**_Slyquin - Be careful what you wish for... ;-)_**

_Chapter 72_

_The following day, she handed in her notice._

_For some reason, she'd thought she could get away with telling Spikings that the reason for her leaving boiled down to the fact that without Dempsey as her partner, the job simply no longer held the same appeal. _

_Spikings of course was determined to do battle._

"_I'm afraid I'm not prepared to accept your resignation, Sergeant. I've already lost one… and it pains me to say this… bloody good detective and I won't lose another. SI-10 has finally built up a reputation for getting results, albeit by somewhat unorthodox methods and if you jump ship as well, this department will take a nose-dive."_

_She had stood her ground, arguing that if her heart wasn't in it anymore, she might just as well not be here anyway. He offered to find her a different 'new' partner if Kirkland wasn't up to the mark, along with an extra two days annual leave. It was when he suggested a three month sabbatical that she knew only her real reason for leaving would suffice._

_The words, 'Sir, I'm leaving to have a baby' managed to silence the boss for one full, excruciating minute. Why had they both been so embarrassed, as though she had done something fundamentally wrong, something dirty, a little depraved even?_

_She was a woman who had found herself pregnant – not under the most salubrious of circumstances maybe, but now it was happening, she was actually glad._

_And then the inevitable, 'Dempsey pleased, is he?' as he had worked his moustache with those thick, stubby fingers._

_Harry had crossed her arms and regarded him levelly as she leaned back against a filing cabinet. The merest of shrugs had been his answer._

"_Harry!" he had growled._

"_It's too late. Too much water under the bridge and besides," she had managed a small, cynical smile, "this 'is' Dempsey we're talking about."_

_He had shaken his head. "I don't know what to say to you, girl," and she had suspected that he genuinely didn't know from which angle to berate her first. No doubt his view would have been just as strong had he known she was getting on a plane in the early hours of the morning to try to make something out of their relationship, if James was prepared to give it a go._

_Keeping her departure a secret was the safest way to go about it. Once they had talked and the future was clearer, then she could at least let Freddy know what was happening and Angela, too._

_For once in her life, she was going to play it by ear; take a chance, take a risk – because she loved him. If she stayed in England, she would be a sitting duck for whenever MacKintyre fancied a little sport while at least in America, she would be less vulnerable and out of sight might just be out of mind, despite MacKintyre's transatlantic connections._

_Carefully, she dried Dufus' feeding bowls and put them away in the cupboard._

_She had dropped him off at the cattery straight after work, late this afternoon. If she stayed in New York for longer than a fortnight, which she was now more or less expecting to, she was hoping Angela would take pity on him and give him a home._

_Harry poured boiling water over a spoonful of instant coffee granules and took her cup over to the window seat where she could look out over the garden. But it was dark outside and all she could see was her own reflection staring back at her. She appeared pale and frightened – because she was. She considered she had got off lightly in the hospital car park last night. The conversation James had had with MacKintyre – what he had only alluded to outside the courtroom that day, it had run through her mind like a slow poison as his fingers had moved over her. He hadn't once made contact with her skin, she realised. How much more revolting would it have been if he had? Except at the end, his mouth on hers and she had been so petrified._

_Eyeing the cream leather suitcase stationed by the front door, Harry tried to remember what it was she had thought about packing earlier in the day._

_She swung her legs to the floor, placing the hot cup of coffee on the low table as she passed by._

_Anxiously, she looked down at the case, mashing the heels of her hands together. Something important, something she needed. Maybe if she had a look around upstairs it would jog her memory._

_The moment she entered her bedroom she remembered the navy blue sweatshirt she had found at the bottom of the airing cupboard and stashed in her chest of drawers last week. It was Dempsey's; he'd brought it with him from New York three years ago, his NYPD gym sweatshirt, emblazoned with white lettering and the police shield, a draw-string hood at the back. He'd misplaced it, not knowing whether it was somewhere in his flat or her house. It hadn't seemed important then but now it held great significance – she was taking it home to him._

_Back out on the landing, she heard an indefinable sound. She stopped and listened, clutching the sweatshirt to her. Was that the same sound again? Just a car door slamming outside. Standing by the landing window here, it could easily be mistaken for something inside the house. She was impossibly jumpy since the encounter with MacKintyre, hearing and seeing things that she magnified into extreme threats._

_Time to book the taxi and get another step further away from this._

_Nervously, Harry hurried down the stairs and went straight to the suitcase, tugging at the buckled strap at the top._

_Something crept into her left-hand field of vision, then to her right. She stood up straight with her heart hammering in her ears and her throat so constricted she thought she was going to choke._

_Slowly, she turned her head to the left and made eye contact with the figure at her side._

_Male, dressed in blue jeans, a grey patterned jumper and brown leather shoes. His head and face were hidden by the black balaclava hood he also wore._

_To the right, a thinner figure in jeans, a plain burgundy sweatshirt, white Adidas trainers and a duplicate black balaclava._

_The first man was left handed. This, she knew because of the knife he held raised up for her to view clearly in his black leather gloved fist._

"_Okay," she said steadily, "so you're MacKintyre's boys. What is it you want?"_

_Gently, she placed Dempsey's sweatshirt down on top of the case, looking from one to the other as she backed away, trying to keep them both within her line of sight._

_Neither of them responded to her question._

"_I take it you have some sort of message for me, to be reinforced with the bandying about of that knife."_

_The men looked at each other and Harry could tell they were grinning by the way the balaclava hoods shifted around the lower half of their faces._

_If she could get to the kitchen, she could at least grab a knife of her own – defend herself. _

_Another backward step. _

_Even if they spoke, she wasn't convinced she would be able to hear over the pounding in her ears._

_Another step._

"_Well, I think it's your move," she said calmly._

_Then she turned and ran, almost making it as far as the staircase before the younger man wearing the trainers, rugby tackled her, pulling her to the ground and pinning her legs as she raised herself with her arms. She kicked out, twisting over and dragging one leg free but before she could take aim with her foot again, the other man had landed himself across her torso, completely knocking the wind from her and she saw the flash of the knife as it descended to her throat. _

_She wouldn't be able to defend herself against them, she knew she couldn't escape so she had to remain calm and reasonable and use her training to talk her way out of this situation. If only she could regain the power of speech…_

_The man in the trainers who she got the impression was very young was now straddled across her lower legs._

"_Okay, you win," she told them, gasping for air. "What does he want?"_

_A swift movement brought a burning sting to Harry's neck and she knew she had been nicked with the knife. She winced, feeling a gloved finger skim the wound and the assailant leaned back on her chest so he could carefully daub her lips with the resulting warm blood. Then he made an exaggerated kissing noise, laughing as he viewed his handy work._

"_He's told you I'm a cop, hasn't he?"_

_She could taste the blood as she spoke. "Don't take this any further and there'll be no comeback. If you stop here, I promise you I won't report it," she bargained. _

_But what if they weren't planning on leaving her able to report it? Oh God! What if they were going to kill her – her and the baby? Maybe they weren't talking because they had nothing to say, nothing to negotiate. They had a clear remit that required no conversation._

_The youth wearing the trainers suddenly slid himself back and made a grab at her right ankle, pulling up the hem of her trouser leg and yanking off her boot. This he repeated with the other leg and Harry's worst fears began to swim into vivid focus._

"_Whatever MacKintyre's paying you, it isn't enough. You know what'll happen if you do this… I'm a cop… my colleagues won't rest until you're caught."_

_She sounded so reasonable it was almost laughable; like she was asking them to stop graffiting a wall or to pick up the litter they had dropped._

_The pressure left her chest as the older man sat up and moved off her, the blade still poised at her neck._

_She closed her eyes briefly, the relief renewing her mental strength._

"_Thank you." She began breathing freely again. She re-opened her eyes in time to see him cocking his head at the younger man as an indication that he should move out of his way. 'Trainers' readily obliged and the man with the knife climbed astride her thighs._

_No! Oh God, no!_ _Harry screamed inside her head._

"_Come on, you don't have to do this. I don't know what MacKintyre's told you but he can't get you off the hook for this one."_

'_Trainers' had switched ends and was now kneeling up behind her head, pinioning her arms to the floor._

"_Why don't you do yourselves a favour and get out now. I'm telling you, you'll get sent down for years for this… twelve at the very minimum. They might just throw away the key."_

_She tried to move her hands, not much but just enough to test 'Trainer's' grip. His pumping adrenaline held her with an unshakable strength._

_Underneath her silky cream oversized shirt, she felt a bead of sweat slide over her ribs._

'This is nothing… they're nothing.'

_The knife came up and flicked through the double row of pearls she wore draped between her breasts. The noise of a hundred little balls rolling and bouncing across the floor of the hallway, endlessly spreading out in every direction was a beautiful distraction, almost hypnotic._

'We can pretend they're not here. It'll just be the two of us together. There's nothing to worry about.'

_And then the sound of the fabric parting as the knife blade was dragged down through it, a soft, powdery dry sound, warm and comfortable. She felt cool air over her upper body as the material drifted apart._

'It won't last forever.'

_She kept her breathing even, deliberately focusing on the 'V' of his sweater as his leather-clad hand groped her roughly. She could feel his eyes trying to draw her to him, trying to force her to witness his enjoyment. She didn't really care about the steel of the knife upon her throat because he had no intention of killing her, at least not yet._

'_Trainers' leaned further forward so he was looking down on her and she couldn't help but see into the eyes behind the mask. He wasn't enjoying this, he was doing what he had been told to do. This wasn't his thing. But he was staring so intently, as though trying to get some message across, trying to convey information._

"_You don't want this, do you?" she told him, looking up into the anxious brown eyes. "This is how you want to earn a living, is it?"_

_She felt the tip of the knife trail down to her shoulder where it was employed to snick through her bra strap. Her fists clenched. The other strap and then the front were sliced through and the man tore the remains of the white silk and lace off her to leave her breasts exposed._

_The knife was laid aside as his hands fell upon her nakedness and 'Trainers' was forced to move back to allow him more access. She felt him pull her arms higher along the carpet out of the way but then the grip on her wrists was tightened and she felt a brief, tense shaking of her hands. Anger? Frustration?_

_She tried to seek him out with her eyes but he was too far back now and the other man was too far over her, breathing audibly. She wanted to scream but if she did she would never manage to stop. She had never been so afraid in her entire life but if she let herself give in, if she acknowledged the fear, then her body would instinctively recoil from the physical torment and so when the time came, the pain would be intensified and she would suffer more. And if she felt pain, that might put her baby in danger._

'He won't hurt you… I'll keep you safe.'

_The metallic click as a belt buckle was undone._

_Chas and Alice had a dog – she hadn't known that until the other night. A Spaniel cross._

_The soft 'thok' as a jeans button popped open and the lazy buzz of the zip that followed._

_Damn! She'd forgotten to collect that coat from the dry cleaners._

_And she was being shaken by the wrists again – tearing her cruelly from her calming thoughts. _

_Clumsy, hindered fingers scrabbled at her waistband and her trousers were yanked unceremoniously down her legs. A grunt of anticipation._

_Harry had to make herself breath, instructing her lungs to inflate._

_Suddenly her right wrist was released and a second later she felt a smack to the side of her head; not hard but it made her gasp aloud._

"_Stupid cow," hissed 'Trainers'._

_The man on top of her jerked his head up._

"_Shut it," he muttered, reprovingly._

_A floorboard creaked, the floorboard three feet from the door leading through to the kitchen. There was somebody else in the room. There were more of them! The rest of MacKintyre's gang._

_Harry's mind began to melt down._


	73. Chapter 73

**_The continuation of Chapter 72 - so if you didn't enjoy that one, I really wouldn't read this. _**

**_But remember, after this, things can only get better ;-)_**

_Chapter 73_

"_Nice show lads but it seems to me you're gettin' nowhere, fast."_

_She recognised MacKintyre's voice and struggled to bring him into sight. He'd been watching. Bile rose hot and bitter-tasting in her throat._

"_My turn."_

_He strode across the room and knocked the man off balance with his foot so that he fell to one side._

"_Come on, get out of it," he said, scooping up the knife._

_Reluctantly, the man moved away from Harry and was immediately replaced by MacKintyre standing astride her, his long camel coat swaying to a standstill._

"_I know you must be scared," he said gently. "Anyone would be. You're just very good at hidin' it."_

_He bent over and hooked the tip of the knife blade into the top of her lace panties._

"_You are scared, ain't you, Harry?"_

_She didn't reply, not because she didn't want to but because she couldn't. She stared up at him, wild-eyed._

"_But not a whimper!"_

_He smiled, admiringly._

_He was twisting the knife very slightly, worrying a hole in the delicate white lace._

"_By the way, the other night in the hospital car park, I saw you with yer little piccy. You was tellin' me porkie-pies, girl. You wasn't visitin' no one."_

_The knife finally sliced through the top of the panties and carried on up over her abdomen where it stopped, the edge of the blade pressing down against her belly._

"_Got Dempsey's little bastard in there, ain't yer?" he snarled suddenly. "And what's with the suitcase, aye? After all I said." He tutted, slowly shaking his head._

_The knife turned sharply and the blade bit into her skin._

_Harry screamed out in pure terror._

_MacKintyre laughed. "That's it, gel, let it out."_

"_Don't! Please don't." she sobbed._

_Her hands were at her stomach now, attempting to deflect the knife which he was prodding around tauntingly. She tried to raise herself up from the ground but MacKintyre held the knife firm._

"_Little bit emotional now, are we? Found your weak spot, maybe?"_

_The floodgates had opened and she was crying hysterically, screaming with each swerve of the blade._

"_Please… I'll do anything."_

"_You're already doin' it, sweetheart."_

_Her fingers were bleeding and spots of blood dripped messily over her stomach. The sight served only to heighten her hysteria, her over-burdened mind equating the damage to her own body with that of her unborn baby._

_He let the knife drop down onto her and watched with delight as she scrabbled to get it away._

_He turned to 'Trainers'. "Gimme that," he said, taking an object from his trembling hands._

"_Say 'cheese', Lady Harriet."_

_A bright flash went off in her face and Harry screamed again, shaking with fear._

_A mechanical whirring sound followed by a loud rip._

_MacKintyre fanned the photograph gently in front of him, grinning as the image began to develop before his eyes._

"_I love these things. Whoever invented the Polaroid camera was a bleedin' genius."_

_He got down on his haunches beside her, cupping a hand to her cheek as she sobbed._

"_This is all I wanted, just to see a bit of humility and I knew I wasn't goin' to get that unless we could strip away that prissy-miss attitude of yours. I don't like it you see."_

_He pulled away the strands of hair that had become plastered to her face by tears, sweat and mucus._

"_It annoys me somethin' fierce, you bein' all cold and distant, like you ain't bothered by nothin'. Women shouldn't be as hard as you, not even women who're coppers – not natural. Maybe the old subconscious sees it as a challenge to my manhood or somethin', I dunno. You're definitely a tough one, Sergeant Makepeace, but not indestructible, aye?"_

_He looked briefly to his two goons, smiling._

"_It's alright, sweetheart," he soothed," as long as you've learnt yer lesson… and I think you have. But just in case you should ever forget it, here's a little reminder."_

_He dragged her hand away from her stomach, fitting the instant photo between her thumb and forefinger. "You can put that in the family album next to the one of Dempsey's bastard."_

_He licked his finger and wiped at the smear of blood she had made in the top corner._

"_There. S'alright, innit?" he smiled encouragingly._

_He brought it up to her face and made her look at the image of herself captured in an eternal scream of terror._

_She couldn't staunch the flow of tears nor the fear that vented itself in loud, gasping sobs._

"_Cheer up, Harry. You're gonna be all plump and glowing soon. And once you're a mummy, you never know, it might bring out a softer side to yer. Have to admit I'm a bit surprised you managed to get yerself in that state in the first place though… frigid piece, I'd o' thought." He grinned. "Bet you used to make Dempsey beg for it on 'is 'ands and knees, didn't yer?"_

_Harry had her eyes squeezed tight shut, weeping uncontrollably as she curled herself up on her side._

"_Woman like you don't need a man, does she? Which is lucky really, considering 'ow the daddy ain't around no more. We won't be seein' 'im again… will we Harry?" MacKintyre told her emphatically. " You're one o' them sisters doin' it for themselves."_

_He stood up with a sigh._

"_Come on then, lads. We all deserve a pint, I reckon."_

_The hooded muscle stood side by side, 'Trainers' holding the sports bag containing the knife and camera. It was then that the other man chose to speak, his voice low and grizzled._

"_Don't s'ppose you can give me five minutes just to finish off with 'er, boss?"_

_MacKintyre laughed loudly. "'e's a dirty bleeder, 'im. Never think there's a wife and three kids at 'ome would ya?" he asked Harry, obviously tickled by the idea. "We're goin'. Think our Romeo might've offended the boy 'ere," he chuckled, having seen the way 'Trainers' had turned uneasily at the request._

"_Ta ta, darlin'," MacKintyre sing-songed._


	74. Chapter 74

Chapter 74

Sunlight glinted across the windscreen as Dempsey turned to go back inside. The brightness seared her eyes and she looked down, heaving breaths overtaking her body. She didn't want to believe what she had just seen, it was unimaginable.

Without looking up, Harry fumbled with the door handle and let herself out into the clear, fresh morning.

What had he done? Oh my God, what had James done?

She stumbled blindly into the road, causing an oncoming car to slow and blast the horn in irritation but she never even noticed. She couldn't even feel the movement of her own limbs as she ran up the drive and flung herself at the wide, bottle green door, her arms flailing against the wood as she hammered hard.

"Dempsey!" she yelled. "Dempsey!"

The moment the door gave, Harry forced her way through, barrelling into him, her hands battering his chest and shoulders as though she was possessed.

He tried to hold her off as he took in what was happening.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" he cried.

"I saw her, you bastard! I saw Jay. She was here – with you!"

She was backing him through the hallway and he was fending her off, trying to make sense of her actions.

"You don't know what you've done," she continued to rant.

It was then it registered with him how Harry had interpreted the situation but some twisted sense of justice kicked in and he realised he wanted to make her suffer for his own satisfaction.

"Yeah, we really clicked, Saturday night and I figured, what the hell."

He grabbed her wrists and tried to hold her still but her fury made her strong.

"You stupid, stupid bastard," she shrieked.

"Hey, if the mother ain't puttin' out but the daughter's handin' it over gift-wrapped with a bow, what's a guy supposed to do, huh babe?"

It was a cruel and shocking thing to say but he couldn't help himself, he needed to make her bleed as he had done.

Harry became almost hysterical.

"She's yours… she's yours… she's your daughter." And then all the fight went out of her as she was broken down by imploding emotion.

Dempsey looked down into her reddened, tear-stained face. "I know," he said grimly.

She raised her eyes to his in disbelief and she began to back away, shaking her head. "You know? What are you talking about? You know and you slept with her?"

Her hand went to her mouth as she made for the downstairs bathroom, Dempsey in her wake.

He stood behind her, listening to her wretch and instantly regretted the macabre lie he'd just told – the compulsion to wound.

"She's known since she was a kid Phil wasn't her dad. She told me on Saturday… assumed I knew… 'assumed'," (he placed bitter emphasis on the word) "I'd walked out on you."

He watched as she pulled back on her knees and wiped her mouth with a wad of toilet paper, still sobbing, only weaker now.

"I told her to get in touch with me any time she wanted to talk." He gave a rough laugh. "Showed up on the doorstep at just after six this morning – wanted to catch me off guard."

Dempsey leaned with his hand up against the door frame. "So is that down to your genes, my genes or just good police training d'you think?" he asked coldly.

Harry couldn't speak – she just continued to kneel, tissue pressed to her lips, staring dumbly down at the toilet. The silence continued until at last Harry stammered, "You didn't… sleep with her?"

"What do you take me for?" he spat. "Even if I hadn't known she was mine, I knew she was yours, didn't I? And she's twenty-two, for Christ's sake! She's just a kid."

She slumped down to the floor and sat with her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chin. "Oh god, it's such a bloody mess," she rasped quietly.

"You got that right, honey."

The contempt in his voice came over loud and clear.

"I just saw the two of you outside and thought…"

"You know what, Harry?" He turned on her savagely. "I don't give a shit what you thought – or what you think, what you feel, what you want… 'cause frankly, I don't give a shit about _you_ right now. This is about me for once, me and my daughter and everything we missed out on. All those years she hated me for runnin' out on her mom and all the time I never spent with her because you thought you had the right to keep her from me. You, up there in your ivory tower. You make me sick!"

"I wanted to tell you," she whispered, her head in her hands now.

"Bullshit!" he exploded. "If you'd wanted me to know, you woulda told me. Bottom line, I didn't quite fit the bill for fatherhood, least not in your world. I was okay to have a little fun with for a few months but when it came to the serious stuff like the Winfield family line, I wasn't suitable material. Enter, Philip Cavanagh, the whiter than white knight in shining armour and purveyor of damage limitation.

Harry shook her head, distraught. "You have no idea…"

"You're right," he threw his hands up, "yeah, you're right, I don't. Been tryin' to get my head around it but…" he hitched his chin and clicked his tongue, laughing shortly, "I just keep comin' back to the fact that you gave birth to my kid and didn't bother to mention it."

And then he walked out.

"James," she called out feebly as she struggled to her feet, "don't go."

"I ain't goin' nowhere, Princess – you are."

She followed him out across the cloakroom quadrangle and back out to the hallway, trying to catch up with him.

"Please, James, I need to talk to you."

He resolutely ignored the hand at his back and carried on the few extra steps to the front door.

"Harry, I've been tryin' to get you to talk for weeks. Now, I don't wanna hear it."

He was holding the door wide open. "I want you to go."

Harry tried to keep calm but she couldn't stand the way he was looking at her, with something akin to hatred darkening his eyes.

"It wasn't straight forward… there are things I need to tell you… just listen to me for a minute, will you?"

To her horror, he started pushing her out, physically ejecting her from his home and when she resisted, his hand clamped about her upper arm to reinforce his intention.

"Try talkin' to your daughter, not me. If you're real lucky, she might listen, though I can guarantee you there ain't gonna be no ticker-tape parade."

"Does she hate me?" she asked, her voice unnaturally high with the feeling of panic that had filled her.

She found herself out on the doorstep now, Dempsey releasing his grip on her. He smiled cruelly.

"You know, I think she probably does."

"We have to talk about this sooner or later."

He was closing the door on her.

"Please, James, I want to explain."

"Explain to Jay."

"I know, I will, of course I will but…"

"Goodbye Harry."

The door slammed shut and she was left on her own.

"James!"

She hit the door with the flat of her hand several times.

"I'm sorry. James, please let me back in. James!"

She banged at the door again and again, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

"James!"

By the time Harry finally dragged herself back to the car, Dempsey was still leant up against the other side of the door.

He was trembling, his eyes closed and sweat stood out on his brow.

"Why did it have to turn out this way, Harry?"


	75. Chapter 75

_Chapter 75_

_Her fragile hopes for the future lay sprinkled amongst the debris; sugary sweet dreams crystalized and scattered._

_They had gone and all was silent save for the eternal pounding of her heart in her ears._

_Harry carefully got herself to her feet, trembling quite violently. Every movement seemed to hurt; her chest ached from where he had held her down with the weight of his body, her forearms and wrists were bruised where the other had restrained her, her fingers, sticky with the bloody cuts she had received as she tried to deflect the knife blade away from her abdomen. There was a slight throbbing to the side of her head where she had been hit and the laceration at her throat, although not much more than a scratch, still stung._

_But worse than any physical pain was the all-consuming fear she now felt. She had never been made to feel this afraid, nor anywhere even approximating it in her entire life because now it was not only her life that was at stake but that of her baby._

_Clutching the torn sides of her blouse together across her torso, Harry trod fearfully through to the kitchen. Although the utility room door had been unlocked anyway, the back door leading out into the garden had been forced open and the door jam was raw with freshly splintered white wood. The sight made her feel totally vulnerable and she ran back to the hallway, little gasps of panic rising in her throat. She grabbed up Dempsey's sweatshirt from where she had dropped it on top of the case and quickly pulled it on over her head, burying herself in the softness of the thick, over-washed cotton._

_Instantly, it gave her a distinct feeling of protection. Feeling stronger, she went to the sitting room and dragged away the heavy wooden desk chair, returning to the kitchen with it and then going out to the utility room to jam it up against the handle of the damaged door._

_Locking the kitchen door behind her, she fled upstairs._

_Harry bathed herself until she was scrupulously clean, soaping every part of her body several times over in an attempt to wash away all the vile, dirty fingerprints that even gloved hands had left. She concentrated on this process for nearly an hour, emptying her mind of what she had just endured. Still, she felt dirty._

_It was never meant to be, was it, her and James? They just weren't meant to be together._

_MacKintyre had been serious about her staying away from him and she hadn't quite taken him seriously enough. But now she knew James had been right when he'd said MacKintyre was sick in the head. He was capable of anything and because James had disappeared and could no longer be useful to him, he had decided Harry could be a substitute with fringe benefits. She had no doubts that it was the baby that had saved her. The baby spelled her retirement from the force and took away her desirability but MacKintyre had still had to have the last word. By breaking her down with the monstrously theatrical threat of rape and torture, his twisted mind had acknowledged a victory. Maybe she had been lucky; maybe he wouldn't have thought twice about letting them have her had she not been pregnant. _

_She suddenly realised how he had choreographed the whole thing; breaking into her home, the hooded attackers, the use of the knife and then at the optimum moment he had stepped in to have his pound of flesh – he had had to be the one to finish her._

_Why hadn't he let them go through with it? An act of kindness? But no, he had simply recognised the fact that she had closed herself off from what was happening to her so he had upped the ante himself. How far would he have gone in order to get the required reaction?_

_Harry dressed quickly in jeans and a jumper and then donned Dempsey's sweatshirt again – it stopped her from shaking._

_She didn't bother to re-apply her make-up and scraped her hastily dried hair up before heading back downstairs._

_She forced herself to move fast, trying her damnedest to ignore the surge of panic that greeted her at the sight of her possessions strewn about._

_She gathered up the trousers, the boots, the scrap of shredded silk and lace that had been her brassiere, a mother of pearl button that had come away from her shirt in the struggle and then on her hands and knees, she began to rake together as many of the little pearls from the necklace as she could. _

_Laboriously, her stinging fingers plucked them up off the hall floor but every time she raised her eyes, there seemed to be another dozen strewn just out of reach._

_She began to cry tears of frustration, edging further forward as she scrabbled for the pearls._

"_Shit!" she mouthed angrily. "Shit, shit, shit!"_

_Harry screamed out in rage and dragged herself to her feet before wadding everything up that she had collected and holding it at arms' length to dash through to the kitchen where she crammed it down inside the bin._

_She stood up straight then, breathing hard._

_Where was the photograph – that filthy, obscene image of the moment MacKintyre had claimed as his subjugation of her?_

_She eventually found it, after a frantic search, flipped up against the skirting board, the white back rendering it almost invisible against the paintwork._

_With a wild fury, she tore it into as many pieces as the laminated surface would allow, at one point using her teeth to tear through the material._

_Back in the kitchen, she took a pair of scissors and further reduced it to unrecognisable confetti before dashing it into the bin along with the clothing._

_It was done. It was over with._

_Slowly, her hand curled into a fist and she held it against her stomach. _

_Calm. Calm._

_Gently, her knuckles grazed the soft navy fabric of Dempsey's sweatshirt and she looked down with tear-stung eyes. This baby – she had to protect it at all costs and by keeping its' father away, she would be protecting them all. They said, didn't they, that what you didn't know about, couldn't hurt you? How true that was._

_It was almost four o'clock when she locked the front door behind her and wrestled the suitcase into the boot of the car._

_..._

_On auto-pilot, she drove down to Kent and the unfailing bulwark of Winfield Hall. It was all she wanted now her dreams had been taken from her - the unquestioning presence of her father and the timeless limbo of her childhood home._

_When Abbot, dressed in pyjamas and checked dressing gown, opened the doors of Winfield Hall at just after dawn, he did a remarkably decent job of covering his alarm at the sight of Lady Harriet. Never, in all his years of service with his Lordship had he seen his daughter looking as unkempt and bereft as she appeared before him now._

"_Good morning, Abbot," she greeted quietly. "I do apologise for getting you out of bed like this but circumstances have rather overtaken the rules of convention, I'm afraid."_

_Swiftly, he pulled the door open wide and ushered Harry inside._

"_Please don't concern yourself, Miss Harriet. Have you brought luggage?"_

_She nodded, vaguely. "Yes. Yes, there's a case in the boot of the car."_

"_I'll bring it straight in."_

_He held out his hand and waited._

"_The car keys, Miss?" he prompted, softly._

"_Oh, yes of course," Harry flustered, passing them to him._

"_And might I suggest, Miss Harriet that you maybe would benefit from a few hours rest before greeting the day?"_

"_I think I'll do just that," she said, smiling feebly._

"_If you would care to go up to your room, Miss, I'll follow on with your luggage."_

"_Thank you, Abbot."_

"_Might I prepare you __something to eat before you retire? Or would you prefer to breakfast with His Lordship later?"_

"_No, later is fine."_

"_Very good, Miss. I'll inform your father of your arrival, shall I?"_

_She stopped suddenly, a hand on the age-slickened bannister of the sweeping mahogany staircase._

"_No, certainly not. There's really no need to disturb him," she told the servant, quickly. "Oh and Abbot… I would very much appreciate you not mentioning this ridiculous hour to him – no point worrying him unnecessarily, you know. Let's say I arrived half an hour after he went to bed, shall we?"_

_Abbot nodded his understanding of the situation._

"_Then I had the pleasure of welcoming you home at approximately half past ten last night, Miss Harriet."_

_A wave of exhaustion passed through her and she stumbled as she took the next stair._

_Abbot flew to her side, a solicitous hand at her elbow. "May I call the doctor for you, Miss Harry? If I might be so bold as to say, you don't look at all well. I could have young Doctor Spalding here in a jiffy."_

_Harry quickly regained her composure but Abbot's concern only made her feel worse._

"_I'm quite alright – really. Nothing a few hours of sleep can't put right. But thank you anyway, it's very sweet of you. Thank you," she added again, humbly and began to steadily make her way up the stairs to the sanctuary of her bedroom._


	76. Chapter 76

Chapter 76

"They know… they both know and I don't know what to do," Harry babbled. "And Jamie hates me. I should have told her before…. Oh God," she moaned in despair.

Sitting at the desk near the front of the shop, Angela eyed her customer who was standing back to admire a 1930's August Walther & Sôhne art deco Rotterdam lamp.

She and Mike had picked it up for a song at the Berlin trade fair on Saturday afternoon - small compensation for missing the Jarvis party but the trip had been planned for months. It was of blue satin glass and featured a semi-nude girl kneeling on rocks, holding aloft a star shaped globe. It was in perfect condition and Angela had been tempted to keep it for herself.

"Now just take a deep breath and calm down, darling," she told her steadily. "When did you tell them? What happened?"

"I didn't ! I didn't say anything. It was on Saturday. He said she's known for years," Harry continued to rant.

The customer looked like a serious buyer; affluently dressed, well-spoken when they'd chatted a few minutes earlier, rather attractive too…

"So who told them?" she asked with concern.

"Jay did!" Harry cried, exasperated. "Jay told Dempsey on Saturday night at the party. And she came here this morning to see him… she wanted to talk to him and I thought they'd been…"

"So Dempsey stayed over last night and Jay knew he was there?

"No!" Harry was becoming more and more upset. "I'm not at home, I'm at Dempsey's house."

The potential buyer glanced over to Angela, clearly with a question to ask. She raised a finger to indicate she would be with him in one minute.

"Hang on, I'm confused. Where's Dempsey now?"

"He won't talk to me, Angela. He threw me out…" Her voice was rising in agitation.

"Alright, alright," Angela tried to sooth her. "Where exactly are you? Do you want me to come and get you?"

"I'm going to lose Jamie, aren't I? She knows I've lied to her."

"Of course you won't lose her, she loves you, you're her mother no matter what, Aitch. Do you want me to pick you up?"

"No, I'm alright, I'm in my car. I just… what shall I do?" she wailed.

The potential buyer was standing by the blue glass lamp waiting for her to finish the call and pretending not to be interested in the side of the conversation he was hearing.

"Are you okay to drive?"

"I think so."

Angela heard the tremor in her voice and hoped that was true.

"Look, I'm going to close the shop," she told her. "I'll meet you at your house, okay? If you're not there when I arrive, I'll let myself in and make us coffee."

There was no objection which in itself bothered Angela.

"Everything's going to be fine, darling, I promise you."

Picking up her handbag from underneath the desk, Angela took the shop keys from the inside zipper pocket. The potential buyer approached with a half-smile and curious eyes.

"Sounds like you've got your hands full."

Angela smiled back. "A friend in need and all that."

"The Rotterdam lamp – I'm very interested."

"I'm really sorry but it's a bit of an emergency. If you can come back tomorrow, it'll still be here."

From the state Harry was in when she finally arrived at Kettleworth Avenue, Angela was amazed she had made it back in one piece.

Little by little, she got the story from her, frequently recapping, constantly reassuring until at last, she allowed her to curl up into a corner of the sofa and drink her coffee in reflective silence.

"You know," said Harry quietly, her eyes closed for a brief moment, "I've always known this day would come. I've been through every conceivable scenario in my head a thousand times over." She rubbed her thumb back and forth across the top of the mug handle. "I just never imagined that they'd find out about each other without my intervention. I'd always pictured myself telling them separately."

"Well, it's done now, the worst is over."

Harry smiled ruefully. "If only that were true." She shifted position. "I promised Philip I'd let him know what was happening. It's going to come as a shock to him to hear Jay knew all along that he wasn't her real father."

"Do you think you'll talk to her together? Would it be easier?"

"I don't know if it would, to be honest."

Angela grimaced. "And how 'honest' to you intend to be exactly?"

"Whatever she wants to know. It'd be rather uncomfortable with Philip there though, I suppose."

"You know what I mean. Are you going to tell her the real reason you and James didn't stay together?"

"I'm hoping it won't come to that," Harry sighed.

"And James? The pair of you have got to talk again at some point."

"Have we?" Harry asked miserably. "I think he's given up on me."

"He needs to know everything, darling. He doesn't know what you went through to protect him and Jay."

Harry sipped at her now cold coffee. "I didn't _do _anything though, did I, that's the trouble. It was me who gave up then."

"You didn't have any choice," said Angela with a severity that caused Harry to look up.

"You did what you had to – nothing. You've got a second chance now, Harry, something you'd never have had if you'd gone to New York and James finished up dead. You did the right thing. You couldn't have lived the last twenty three years with his death on your conscience."

"No," she said softly, "no, I couldn't." Then she asked with trepidation, "He'll calm down, won't he? I know I only made it worse when I accused him of… oh, God," she said sickly, "how could I have thought such a thing? My mind was all over the place… it was just… I don't know, a knee-jerk reaction."

"He'll realise that. I don't suppose he was playing with a full deck either at the time."

Magus jumped up between them on the sofa and stretched up to plant both his front paws on Harry's chest, touching his velvety black nose to her cheek with an air of concern. Harry slid a hand over his head and down his sleek back.

"He was angry – I mean, really angry."

Reaching out absently, Angela too began stroking the cat. "That's a good thing – it means he cares."

"It doesn't mean he cares about me, only about what I've done."

"I saw the way he kept looking at you when we were at the bar the other week – the man's completely smitten. In fact, it made me feel quite nauseous," she joked.

Harry tried to smile. "I think things have changed a bit since then."

"Yes, they have," she pushed, "he's gained a daughter! They spent three hours talking this morning, that's got to be a good thing, hasn't it?"

"You're right," Harry nodded, sounding far from convinced. "But I dread to think what they were saying about me."

"You probably got nothing more than a fleeting mention," she smirked.

At that moment, Harry's mobile phone rang out and she froze.

"Answer it then," Angela prompted.

Magus leapt to the floor as Harry reached down into her handbag.

"It's Jay," she whispered.

Harry had left a voicemail message just a quarter of an hour earlier telling her that she'd spoken to Dempsey and thought it was time they talked too. She really hadn't expected such a quick response though.

"Jay…"

Harry's voice cracked and tears instantly welled up in her eyes.

Listening intently, Angela searched her friend's face in order to decipher every little nuance in her words. It was sounding hopeful and after less than a minute, Harry said goodbye.

She looked at Angela with a trembling smile. "She's coming over after work," she laughed. It was a jerky, disjointed sound and Harry clamped a hand over her mouth before promptly bursting into tears.


	77. Chapter 77

**Yes, two chapters this weekend!**

**Please, please review as it tells me if I'm still doing it right... and it's always great to hear from new reviewers ;-)**

Chapter 77

"You look bloody awful, Mum."

They pulled apart from their swift but tight embrace at the front door and Harry automatically pushed her fingers through her hair in an effort to tidy herself up.

"Do I? It's been a long day." She smiled broadly and then immediately broke down.

"I'm so sorry, my darling."

Harry took her daughter back into her arms. "I'd do anything for you to forgive me," she cried, holding on like she never wanted to let go again. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Mum, stop it."

Jay pushed her away and Harry could see that she too was crying. They both laughed and Harry put her hands to her daughter's cheeks, thumbing away the tears.

"I'm sorry," she repeated but this time emotion restricted the words to a whisper. "It doesn't change anything; Dad is still your dad no matter what, he still loves you just the same."

Jay nodded rapidly. "That's what I wanted to ask you about."

They were walking, arms around each other, down the hall and through to the kitchen. "Was there ever any doubt – for Dad, I mean? Did he always know I wasn't his?"

"Darling… always." Harry held her eyes, an enormous desire to make her believe, driving her emotions. "I never, ever lied to him about anything. We didn't even meet until after you were born – you were already a couple of months old."

"I'd always thought… I thought…" She could barely speak. "I'd thought you must've been pregnant when you and Dad met and you'd told him I was his… I didn't know… that bit was always jumbled up… the dates, it was never really very clear. I suppose you deliberately kept it vague."

They were standing in the kitchen now and Harry held her tightly to her again. "I can't believe you knew and you never said anything. Oh, sweetheart."

"I hope there's a bottle of wine in the fridge, Mum," Jay prompted, her face hot against her mothers'.

Harry laughed and moved back, wiping her eyes. "What do _you_ think?"

Grabbing a tissue from the box on the windowsill Jay wiped her nose and dried her eyes whilst Harry poured the wine.

"In here or the living room?" asked Harry, passing her a glass.

"We could sit out on the patio – it's still warm, isn't it."

Taking the bottle with them, they moved out to the table and chairs on the flagged patio area.

"How did you find out?" Harry asked cautiously and Jay told her how there had been no defining moment, just an amalgamation of little loose ends that had been sufficient to convince her that her real father was this American Harry had once worked with.

"That day when Ed told me he'd turned up here when you were out, it was horrible. I knew everything would kick off eventually and it has done but…"

Jay shook her hair clear of her shoulders and stared down at her glass for a moment.

"But?" Harry pressed.

"It is true, isn't it? What Dempsey said? He didn't dump you and he didn't know about me?"

"No, he didn't _dump_ me," Harry confirmed with a half-smile, "and he didn't know about you."

_So, she called him 'Dempsey' did she?_

"Whatever he told you, it was the truth," she told her with conviction.

Jay looked surprised. "But he could've told me anything!"

"He has no reason to lie," she said simply.

"You've got a lot of faith in him."

"I used to trust him with my life, 'back in the day'," she smiled, quoting one of Ed's well used phrases.

Jay drank her wine, smiling back.

"I thought you were angry," Harry said gently, "… James… he said you probably hated me."

"Yeah, I did but that was this morning and I've had chance to think about everything. I'd thought it was all down to him so when he told me he didn't even know, I had to blame you but… like he said this morning, what difference does it make now?"

Harry's eyes flickered to the side as that remark syphoned quickly through her mind.

_Had that been an attempt at neutrality on his part?_

"I don't really get why you split up," Jay continued. "He said there were lots of reasons… he said it was mostly because of the pressures of being in the force together, having to keep the affair quiet. And he mentioned something about feeling like he wasn't good enough for you," she said, hesitantly. "He was kind of making a joke about it but I got the feeling he meant it."

She watched as Harry hunched forward over the table, her glass raised nonchalantly to her lips. But she couldn't hide the mist of tears in her eyes.

"We were from very different backgrounds – very different people but something just clicked."

"You clicked... that's what he said!."

"I don't think he ever got to grips with why…" it felt odd, talking to Jay this way, "why the relationship worked – it just did. Sometimes I used to think he was looking for a reason for it to go wrong," she ploughed on.

"A reason to end it, do you mean?"

"No. Neither of us wanted that but everything seemed to conspire against us in the end."

"That guy MacKintyre?"

Harry flinched. "He told you about MacKintyre, did he?"

"Some East End gangster whose nose he put out of joint – found out you were together and threatened to blow the whistle unless you both turned a blind eye to his criminal activities."

Not quite the full story – no mention of the threats of violence against her not the fact that Dempsey had stood up in a court of law and perjured himself to protect her. And Harry was glad of that – there were things Jay really didn't need to know.

"I'm sorry you've had to hear all this from Dempsey and not me."

"It's better in a way that I got it from him first. He's told me all the formative stuff - the background," Jay grinned and Harry was quite unnerved by the similarity to Dempsey, "and he didn't cry like you would've done."

That wrung a few more tears but Harry managed to stay in control. "I'd been dreading telling you even though I knew it'd reached the point where I had to and when he told me you'd realised years before, it just made it ten times worse. The guilt…"

Reaching across the table, Harry tenderly pushed a few odd strands of hair away from Jay's eyes. "Why did you never say anything? Why did you keep it all bottled up for so long?"

Jay shrugged. "I was young. I thought it'd split the family up if it all got stirred up."

"It wouldn't have made any difference. We were only concerned with protecting you, darling. Dad and I only ever wanted what was best for you – what we saw as doing the right thing."

Jay shook off her confusion with a frown. "But you didn't tell Dempsey… how was that doing the right thing? If you didn't even meet Dad until after I was born, why didn't you at least tell him, give him a chance?" That's what I don't understand – what he doesn't understand."

Suddenly, everything seemed to have been turned on its head. Jay had never been wrapped safely in the blissful ignorance Harry had supposed and now she had gained an insight into her true identity, could it be that all her sympathies lay with Dempsey?

"Mum? Why didn't you tell him about me?" she persisted when Harry failed to answer.

"It would never have worked out, Jay."

Oh, God, those hackneyed words again, recited so often in the vain hopes of it one day ringing true.

"Maybe not but you should've told him. He's really gutted, you know. It was what he wanted, wasn't it, to get married, have a family and everything – he loved you."

Harry laughed out loud. She couldn't stop herself.

"He wanted what?"

"But you didn't."

"Jay?" Harry asked, butterflies feeling more like bats in her stomach, "is that what he told you?"

"He wasn't lying, Mum – he was upset," Jay defended.

Harry felt cold - a sickening chill running through her veins.

"What?" Jay asked, watching her mother's reaction curiously. "He said you'd always put your career first so he couldn't believe you'd given up the police to have me and still not told him. So why did you have me, Mum?"

"He wanted marriage and a family?" Harry asked with a shaking, incredulous voice. "Of course he didn't! I think his memories must've become quite romanticised over the years."

She drank the second half of her wine down in a few greedy gulps.

Jay scowled down into her own glass but didn't drink. "Did you ever ask him?" And then she scowled across at Harry. "How could you be so cruel?"

_She was actually siding with Dempsey against her!_

"Darling, please, it wasn't a question of... it really was for the best."

"What do you expect me to say?" choked Jay. "You and Dad lied to me my entire life but at least it was to cover up the fact that my real dad was a loser who'd not wanted anything to do with me – or so I'd thought. But it turns out _you_ just didn't want him around anymore."

_Don't expect no ticker-tape parade _Dempsey had said.

"It wasn't like that." She tried to keep calm.

"And Auntie Angela and Uncle Mike? Auntie Alice and Uncle Chas? They lied too, didn't they? But you know the very worst thing, Mum? The worst thing is that Dempsey's a really lovely guy and you never let me know him. We talked for ages; he told me all about his life, stuff he's done, everything. I think we're quite alike in a lot of ways."

"Oh yes," Harry agreed with a shuddering sigh, "you are _very_ alike."

"And you've always gone on about Grandpa Freddy; how wonderful he was, how close you were, you've practically idolised him but you didn't even tell me who _my _father was."

"You've always had Dad."

"I've had Ed's dad. I was never going to be a daddy's girl like you were because he always preferred Ed!"

Now it was Harry's turn to be angry.

"No! I won't have you say that, he's always loved you both exactly the same."

"You're sure about that?" Jay returned.

"If you ever, for one moment thought there was any favouritism, it was nothing more than a father and son affinity and don't you dare to think otherwise."

Jay stared at her defiantly for a moment before starting to cry. "It's not fair," she wept childishly. "I've always had this hazy image of some unknown guy to hate for deserting us and now I know he didn't, there's only you left to blame."

Harry stood up and moved around the table to pull Jay up into her embrace. "I know, darling, I know," she whispered, stroking her hair and thanking God that her daughter still felt enough love to cling to her like this.

Had she been so wrong about James? Had he really wanted that kind of life with her? If that were true, then their only real obstacle had been MacKintyre – just a man and no matter what his twisted intentions, he couldn't have been everywhere at once, there would have been some quiet corner of England where they wouldn't have been found and wouldn't he have lost interest in them sooner or later anyway?

"It's my fault. This is all my fault and I've been so selfish. Please don't hate me, sweetheart."

She cradled Jay to her. "I gave up too soon."


	78. Chapter 78

Chapter 78

Philip's flat in Fulham had been redecorated since her last visit.

It was what you'd call 'smart'; not too impersonal and far from austere yet a touch too 'show home' for Harry's taste. It suited him though, very clean, precise and ordered.

"What can I get you? Coffee, tea – something stronger?"

"It's ten o'clock in the morning, Philip," she pointed out.

"Extenuating circumstances."

"Tea is fine," she assured him.

She watched him stride leisurely out to the kitchen; tall and very slim, immaculately attired in a cream linen jacket and trousers. In the large living room area, she briefly studied the new Louis Bittencourt oil on the wall and noted that although the framed photograph of the children was still in place on the windowsill, the family photograph of them all taken a few years back on a holiday to Malta had been removed. Now that was a step in the right direction!

"You really didn't need to drop everything like this, you know," she called to him. "I could've met you somewhere at lunchtime or after you'd closed this afternoon."

"Nonsense! I could tell you were upset on the 'phone. You should've rung me last night – I would've come straight over."

"I think Jay could only handle one parent at a time yesterday."

"And a third might've been stretching it?"

This comment was met with silence and Phil put his head around the door.

"Sorry. I didn't mean anything by that other than… well, you know. And besides, I actually meant after Jay had gone – a shoulder to cry on."

He returned to the task in hand only after Harry had acknowledged his apology with a small smile. They didn't speak again until he came back through with their tea.

Handing over her cup and saucer, he asked, "So how are you? Not the grand revelation we'd envisaged, by the sounds of it."

"That's the part I can't get my head around – that she knew all along, that she'd heard us arguing about… she darted a defensive look towards him, "…about James."

He sat down beside her. "And how's he taken it?"

"I'm not sure really," she said lightly, "as I said on the 'phone, they had a long talk and they seem to have reconciled themselves to the fact that he's her natural father but now James and I… well…" she looked at Phil with a tense smile, "we're not actually on speaking terms at the moment. He sort of threw me out of his house yesterday."

Phil turned to her, shocked.

"That's really helpful," he sniped, "that's really tackling the issue head on." He looked at her intently. "So he isn't interested in what you went through then? He thinks it's all about him," he said testily as without even a thought, it seemed, he placed a proprietary hand to the back of her head and leant forwards to kiss her briefly on the forehead. "Well, with a bit of luck, he'll just disappear from whence he came and we can all try to put this mess behind us. Why the hell he had to come back in the first place is beyond me."

"I haven't told him yet," she interjected, "about that night at Camberwell Grove… I didn't get the chance."

That knocked the wind out of his sails somewhat.

"Ah."

He sipped distractedly at his hot tea.

"Well, just don't be surprised if you get the same response when you have. I daresay the only thing he'll be bothered about is that you never told him you were having his child."

"Whereas the only thing he seems to be bothered about at the moment is that child herself and what it's doing to her," Harry threw back heatedly.

Phil sighed resignedly. "Alright, credit where it's due. I'm sorry, darling."

He reached for her hand, stroking over the back of it with his thumb.

"This isn't easy for any of us, is it?"

Harry turned to look at him keenly. "You mustn't mention it to Jay… about that night. I don't want her to know about that, she's got enough to deal with as it is. Promise me, Philip," Harry implored.

During their marriage, his easy compliance had frustrated her on occasion. She had wanted to be challenged, she had wanted to face defiance. She had needed to be provoked and confronted, to spar and fight. She had wanted the thrill of war. But right at this moment, all she wanted from him was acquiescence.

"Of course. I think you're right, sweetheart."

Harry squeezed his hand, gratefully. "Thank you, Philip."

They talked for a while longer, Phil anxious to hear everything that had been said the previous night and it was with a masochistic curiosity that he listened to Harry's re-telling of the three hours Jay had spent with Dempsey the previous morning.

And then Phil asked about the falling out she and Dempsey had had.

It was a natural enough enquiry although Harry sensed the undercurrent of relish with which it was asked.

With great embarrassment, she told him how she had jumped to the hideous conclusion that Dempsey had unwittingly slept with his own daughter.

"Look, don't take this the wrong way, darling," Philip said after a few moments of contemplation, "but are you sure you really know what you're letting yourself in for – getting involved with him again?"

Harry looked at him questioningly.

"What I mean is, I know you were under duress, you weren't quite yourself but even so, if he's the sort of man who you could imagine jumping into bed with a twenty-two year old… any twenty-two year old, is he really what you want? Do you need that pressure in your life?"

Harry opened her mouth to object but discovered she couldn't find the right words.

Her silence seemed to satisfy Phil who smiled his commiserations.

"And I can't pretend I'm happy that Jay's so keen to get to know him but obviously I'm not going to try to stop her. She's a grown woman and I think, a good enough judge of character to work out whether or not she's being used.

"Used? Used how?" Harry asked uncomfortably.

"He's just acquired a daughter – he might see finding favour with her a way of acquiring the mother too."

Harry rounded on him.

"And what makes you think he hasn't already 'acquired' me?" she goaded. "Is it totally beyond the realms of your imagination to believe that James and I are already back together in a proper, permanent relationship and have been for a number of weeks now?"

_If only that were true! If only they were really back together, it'd make getting through this so much easier. But it was a catch-22 situation, wasn't it? They weren't back together in the full sense of the word because she hadn't wanted them to get too involved before telling him about Jay. After all that had happened, she simply couldn't burden him with that pressure as well. _

"I suppose not," he said faintly. "Although it doesn't mean I _want _to believe it."

To her surprise, Phil suddenly crumbled, leaning forward, his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry. That was a ridiculously callow thing to say in the first place, Harry, and I apologise."

He looked to her with a supplicatory expression. "Jealousy, darling, pure and simple. It feels like I'm losing you both to him. "Granted," he added hastily, "_You _aren't mine to lose."

"Philip!" she reprimanded softly, moving closer to sit with her shoulder against his.

"I can't help but wonder if history is repeating itself and I don't want to think of you being hurt like before although a part of me wants to be there to take care of you… like I did then."

She found his honesty almost endearing.

"I do wish you wouldn't, Philip," she gulped, "you're going to make me cry in a minute and I've been doing far too much of that recently."

"There, you see – I haven't seen you cry in years. James Dempsey comes back," he carefully wiped away the single tear as it slid slowly down her cheek, "and you're suddenly as vulnerable as the day I met you."

He looked deep into her liquid blue eyes and Harry felt the old unassailable warmth of his love spreading over her like a veil.

Before she realised what was happening, their mouths met and she was caught up in a strange and completely unexpected kiss that seemed to short-circuit her brain for a second. Was it so wrong to be doing this – kissing the man she had been married to for seventeen years?

Philip made it so easy for her; he took away the pain and thereby gave her the comfort of emotional destitution. Like a sponge, he absorbed the hurt and washed it away with his gentle caresses.

"Philip," she murmured.


	79. Chapter 79

**_'Uncle Giles' is courtesy of Fleura45 and her story 'Come A Stranger'. He came to life so I borrowed him for a quick mention :-)_**

_Chapter 79_

"_You got a good sound goin' there, man. I like it," Dempsey enthused, clapping the skinny, long-haired youth on the shoulder. "Let me buy you fellas a drink… hell, let's make it one each!" he quipped, tossing a few notes onto the bar for the bartender to pick up. "Whatever the band's drinkin' an' one for yourself."_

_The barman nodded his thanks and set to work with organising the band member's 'usuals'._

_The young man, dressed in tight blue jeans and a denim jacket over his black t-shirt took the stool beside Dempsey._

"_Seen you around a few times."_

"_Yeah, guess I'm a regular now."_

"_So, you just moved into the area?"_

_Dempsey pulled away the bottle he'd been sucking on. "Just moved back. Been away four years."_

"_Time?" he asked without batting an eyelid._

_Dempsey grinned. "Almost – England."_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Work. Had a boss with a g.s.o.h. Thought I deserved some English culture and shipped me out there."_

_The youth took up the beer glass that had just been presented to him. _

_Had you pegged as either a crim or a cop – guess I was wrong."_

_Pointing a finger, Dempsey laughed out loud._

"_Man, you are good."_

"_You're a cop? So what was you doin' over there?"_

"_Like I said, it was kind of a cultural exchange thing, only I don't think they got no one to replace me… me bein' irreplaceable."_

"_Four years is a long time, dude."_

"_Exactly what I thought but it had a little somethin' to do with the heat I'd built up at this end. England cooled me off – everythin' you ever heard 'bout the lousy weather is true, I'm tellin' ya."_

_They were joined then by the three other band members and introductions were made as the drinks were handed round._

_As Dempsey shook with the lead guitarist, a tall, well-built black guy sporting a flat-top afro, the youth named Bix winked, saying, "That's 'officer' Dempsey, Julius."_

_Julius gave a self-satisfied half smile but said nothing._

"_That a problem?"_

"_Got no beef with cops," said the imposing Julius Bell, "just we had an idea you might be, is all."_

"_Or a crim," Dempsey rejoined._

_Bix laughed. "Julius had his money on the right horse, let me tell ya."_

"_It was a close call," said Julius._

_Dempsey grinned. "Yeah, yeah, I get it and it was the whiff of disillusionment that nailed me, huh?"_

_They all sat and drank together for the next couple of hours until the bar finally closed. Dempsey told them cop stories and when he could no longer hold the thread of his tale, they told him gig stories that seemed to rejuvenate his spirits and pull him out of his dark humour._

_As the lights were turned off, they got him on his feet and pointed him in the right direction._

"_You sure you don't wanna get a cab?" asked Nicky, the drummer._

_Dempsey swayed dangerously. "I'm jus' five minutes away from where I live." He held up a hand of splayed fingers and swung away from them to walk a few steps. Suddenly, he turned back, laughing throatily._

"_Yeah… 's where I live… you see the diff'rence?"_

_Cole steadied him as he staggered a little. "What difference, man?"_

"_Where I live…" Dempsey thumbed over his shoulder, "is jus' where I live," he laughed again, "'cause it ain't home. An' you know why?"_

_Bix, who was a little worse for wear himself put an arm about his shoulders. "Sure it's home, Dempsey."_

"_Uh-uh. See, 'cause home, my friend, is where the heart is." Dempsey raised his eyebrows knowingly._

_He left them then, refusing any further offers of assistance and began wending his way up the street._

_Julius watched him for a moment._

"_As if bein' a cop ain't bad enough, I'd say that guy's got some serious problems."_

…

_Christmas could have been worse although Harry couldn't quite decide how. _

_No James, no alcohol, no enthusiasm._

_Freddy's guests were curious to know why his daughter was spending the entire Christmas period at Winfield Hall when in their view, she should have been in London making merry with her own set of friends. A few days spent with the old man was all that was expected apparently. At one point, Harry was taken solicitously to one side and asked if her father's health was a cause for concern at the moment. So he had to be ill, did he, before spending any length of time with him was permissible? But then, wasn't she here because of her own health and because of her desire to 'get away from it all'._

_She didn't know what her plans were for the immediate future. Freddy had told her to stay for however long she wanted and she was seriously considering actually spending the whole term of her pregnancy here at home. She might change her mind later on but right now, this was the only place she felt truly safe._

_It had changed her, what MacKintyre had done._

_She no longer felt the same confidence and it bothered her that she might never get it back. Maybe hiding herself away was the wrong thing to do but she didn't have the resilience anymore to deal with what had happened; not on top of the baby and not in the public arena._

_She was starting to show now – not much but enough to make her choose her clothes with a little more thought in order to disguise the fact. Not that she was ashamed of her condition of course but once it was general knowledge, the questions would come thick and fast and James' name would be on everybody's lips. The thought of hearing all those words of ill-informed condemnation was just beyond her right now and truth be known, probably always would be. Whichever way you looked at it, they were a walking cliché, weren't they? The upper class 'Lady' finding herself in the club after a tacky little fling with a fly-by-night Yank on the one hand and on the other, they were the star-crossed lovers, destined never to be together, torn apart by fate and circumstance. Only her very closest friends would understand and even then the words, 'I told you so', might very easily be on the tip of their collective tongue._

_At the moment, poor Angela was bearing the brunt of it all for her, explaining away her extended absence at Winfield Hall and taking care of things at Camberwell Grove. She regularly collected and forwarded the mail and Dufus, the black and white cat, although no longer in need of adoption, was currently being fostered by Angela and Mike. She had arranged for the repair of the back door which Harry had told her was down to an attempted burglary. Angela had wanted to know why, if they had managed to break through the door, they hadn't actually burgled the place. Caught in the act by vigilant neighbours, was Harry's rehearsed response She knew it was an imposition, she had told her but it had happened literally hours before she was due at Winfield Hall so would Angela be a sweetheart and sort it out for her?_

_It was just too painful to talk about. Telling Angela about it would have meant reliving it; the twisted psychological brutality that had been metered out to her, the humiliation and the fear. Nothing could be gained from that. It was best put behind her – it was over with._

…_..._

"_I worry about you, old girl," said Freddy as they strolled slowly past the side of the lake._

_Harry secured their linked arms a little closer._

"_There's no need, Daddy, really. I'm fine."_

"_You can't fool old Freddy, you know. You're not yourself and I know it isn't all down to the baby."_

_A haw frost rimed the wintery wilderness of vegetation surrounding the water's edge giving a dismal starkness to the area. But Harry knew that come the Spring, this whole place would come alive again with a thousand hues of nature; a lush oasis within the grounds of Winfield Hall._

"_You may think I'm sticking my beak in but I'm quite entitled to really. I'm your father and I want what's best for you… and my future grandchild," he added with a gentle smile._

"_I know you do," she replied neutrally._

"_I simply don't understand why you let James go or why he went for that matter."_

_He held up his free hand to quash any immediate reaction._

"_Oh, I know you had your problems but in my limited experience, love conquers all. You know it wasn't all plain sailing for your mother and me – I've told you the story of your Uncle Giles'… umm, input, early on in our courtship."_

"_Not quite the same thing," said Harry, indulgently._

"_But love is love and you and James, my dear, were very much in the thick of it from what I could tell."_

_Her father's persistence surprised her. But maybe the roots of his concern were fastened a little deeper, buried in the premise that his only grandchild was to be born not only out of wedlock but without even a father figure to guide it through life. After all, he was an old man from an upper class aristocratic family and things like that mattered a great deal to him. In that respect, she had let him down; her marriage to Robert Makepeace had failed and now here she was producing illegitimate issue. Not that Freddy would ever admit to it in a million years but she couldn't help but wonder if she was a disappointment to him. _

"_I realise circumstances aren't ideal," she sighed. "This would never have happened to Pamela Fitzwarren, would it?" _

_It was an in-joke which served to act as sufficient diversion, making her father laugh as she had hoped it would._

_The Fitzwarren family had been the county pillars when Harry was a child; the three children, William, Jacques and Pamela, shining examples of their generation – at least in their parents' eyes. They excelled in every field so it was quite understandable that their peer group hated them for it and being thoroughly obnoxious brats anyway, so did the peer group's parents._

"_And I'm sure she's all the more miserable for it," Freddy laughed "sour faced prude that she is. You could have run away and joined the circus and you would still have made ten of her."_

"_I did, Freddy, remember? It's called the police force."_

_He chuckled and they continued their walk in companionable silence until out of the blue, Freddy said, "I'm immensely proud of you, Harriet. I want you to know that."_

"_Proud? I thought I'd rather messed things up of late."_

"_Nonsense. You're not the stereotypical 'little woman' you might so easily have become."_

"_That was hardly going to happen with you as my role model."_

"_But even so, I'm glad you've never been tethered to the establishment, you've always taken life by the horns, done your own thing and coming from this sort of background," his arm stretched out to encompass the house beyond, "that takes guts."_

_Harry smiled. "Or sheer bloody mindedness."_

_She certainly hadn't felt very 'gutsy' lately, running away to the security of Winfield Hall and keeping quiet about the baby over Christmas when it was clear that she wouldn't be able to hide it much longer anyway._

"_For what it's worth," he told her, "I believe you're doing the right thing in having this baby. You'd have regretted it all your life if you'd taken the easy way out – I know plenty of young women in your situation do. But you'll make a success of motherhood, Harriet because it'll be a challenge. It isn't a soft option, going it alone."_

I don't want to be alone… I want James.


	80. Chapter 80

**Please, please review - everybody seems to have disappeared and it makes me think I must be doing something wrong :-( **

**If you've been following the story and haven't reviewed before, I'd love to hear from you.**

Chapter 80

After buying a crayfish and rocket salad wrap and a bottle of water, Harry went and sat in the memorial gardens to eat.

It had turned into another hot, cloudless and airless day.

The duck pond was a pleasant distraction but after a few minutes it brought to mind the circular stone pond with the fountain playing in Dempsey's garden and she looked away in search of a different view.

Philip had taken her rejection of him with stoical good humour, admitting to the possibility that he had been taking unfair advantage of the situation. Harry had apologised for letting it happen and they had left it at that, although the 'misunderstanding' had remained as a barrier between then until she left a quarter of an hour later. Philip intended to invite both Jay and Ed round one evening for a meal – a bridge building exercise he called it and he said he thought it might be nice if Harry joined them to show solidarity. She had to agree for the children's sake and just hoped it wasn't going to be seen as an opportunity to play happy families.

A small group of pigeons had gathered by her feet on the look-out for crumbs and she began tossing down tiny pieces of flatbread with lack-lustre. She wasn't particularly hungry anyway – she'd bought the wrap merely because it was lunchtime and she didn't want to go home to brood in isolation.

When her phone started to ring, she considered for a moment not even seeing who it was trying to contact her but she caved in quickly.

Surprisingly, it was Chas Jarvis.

"Hello!" she greeted.

"How are you?"

Automatically, she told him she was 'fine'.

"Got a bit of good news for you."

At the moment, his idea of good news no doubt differed greatly from hers.

"We've got Andor Kalivas," he continued. "They're bringing him in now."

When it seemed there was to be no response, he prompted, "Harry?"

Yes, that was good news, wasn't it; a cause for celebration in fact only the mention of his name had forced her to dredge everything up again.

"That's great," she answered quietly.

"I've phoned Jim but he isn't picking up. I just thought you'd both like to know seeing as you gave us a leg up with the Same Tate angle. He obviously sang like a nightingale when we explained how we could shut down Carnaby Luxe unless he accepted the deal. He's scared of Kalivas but more scared of losing his business empire."

Kalivas could never have guessed in a million years how his part in her pseudo rape had tainted the rest of her life.

"I suppose he had it coming," she said vaguely.

"Harry, I'm sorry, darlin'. I'm talking to you like you're on the investigation, aren't I? I'm not thinking that this affects you personally – your involvement with Sam Tate."

"No, don't worry about it, Chas, it's fine, honestly. We were never that close."

She hadn't told him that she had since realised Kalivas had been the one who blew the whistle on her and Dempsey's relationship and certainly not that he had been one of her attackers at Camberwell Grove. When the attack had eventually come out, she had pleaded with Chas not to take it any further and he had reluctantly agreed. She hadn't wanted her life shaken up and dissected in the remote hopes of achieving a prosecution. With a small child and another on the way, she couldn't cope with that.

"He's not with you then?" Chas asked cheerily.

"Sorry?"

"Dempsey – you haven't seen him today?"

"No."

"I was thinking we could sort out a night for that meal together."

"I don't know… I… I don't really know what to suggest. You'd really need to speak to him."

"Well if you see him before I get hold of him, arrange a few dates between the two of you and we'll see what we can organise, okay?"

Harry was struggling to keep her mind on the conversation. Inside her, a cold anger was stirring.

They had got Kalivas. After all this time, they were finally going to lock him away – maybe not for the crimes he had committed against her but there was still a small amount of satisfaction to be gained from the knowledge. Would she be strong enough to confront him about that night – strong enough not to lose her dignity in the face of the past?

Suddenly, she wanted to see Kalivas' face when he was arrested and charged and she wanted him to see her face and know that she had been instrumental in his downfall.

She wanted him to know what he had done and how his actions had affected her life but ultimately, she wanted him to see that she had got through it, that it hadn't broken her.

And she wanted to gloat.

"Harry?"

Chas' voice finally penetrated her thoughts.

"You sure you're alright?"

"That meeting we had with Kalivas," she began unsteadily, "at his restaurant."

Chas sighed. "Yeah alright, I know I had a go at you about that but you've got to admit it was a stup…" he corrected himself, "… a _risky_ thing to do. You two together again – you're a bloody liability!"

He laughed. "And yes, that contact number you got out of him helped the case, I won't deny it."

"Chas, we didn't tell you but… Dempsey and I have realised it was Kalivas who told Terry MacKintyre about our involvement. That day MacKintyre stood trial for murdering the prostitute, it was Kalivas he was congratulating on doing the research for him – he admitted it."

"It was Kalivas? You're joking!"

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him of Kalivas' part in her attack that fateful November night but something stopped her. It was James' right to be told first, he who had also suffered the consequences with the months of mental torment that had followed. He had thought she hadn't wanted him, hadn't loved him and it had eaten him up and spat him out in a thousand mauled and bloody pieces.

Despite the soaring temperatures of the midday heat, Harry felt a bitter chill sweep through her.

"I want you to throw the book at him," Harry told him rigidly.

"Don't worry, that's been the plan all along. I'm not expecting that scumbag to resurface for at least twenty years."

"I think twenty three would be quite fitting," she replied quietly.

"Yeah, yeah, it would."

Chas heard the bleakness in her next words and guessed immediately that there was trouble in paradise.

"Dempsey knows about Jay."

"Ah. And you obviously didn't get the ideal reaction."

"Not from my viewpoint, no but he's okay with Jay – in fact, it sounds like they're getting on really well."

"Sounds like? That doesn't sound good."

"It's a long story and I know you're busy right now so I'll get you up to speed later but I don't think we'll be seeing you for that meal any time soon."

"That bad? I'm sorry, darlin'. I was really hoping it was going to work out for you two this time."

Harry wished he hadn't said that. Was it really that final? James might come round eventually when he'd had time to get used to the idea. He might find it in his heart to forgive her if she could just speak to him, make him listen. But she was no longer sure that that one night of violence had been enough to warrant the twenty three years of silence. She remembered every detail with a crippling clarity but for James, what if the relaying of some long ago event just wasn't enough?

Thanking Chas for keeping her informed on the progress of the case, Harry cut the call and returned to throwing bits of the tortilla wrap to the birds.

Andor Kalivas. She hated that name with a passion. When she had realised at the restaurant that he was also the youth in the trainers, she had barely been able to hold it together. It would probably have changed everything if she hadn't; it would all have come out there and then and no doubt Kalivas, sussing their true intentions in his restaurant would have wriggled off the hook. But at least James would have known everything.

She got to her feet, the ring finger of her left hand rubbing against the palm. If Kalivas was going to be at S-I10 this afternoon, then so was she.


	81. Chapter 81

**_Two chapters this weekend! Not desperate for reviews or anything ;-) Thank you soooo much to those of you who reviewed the last chapter. I think maybe I'm getting anxious because I'm a couple of chapter ahead with my writing and I'm building up to the climax now._**

**_The 'side of the bed' thing is down to an eagle-eyed Slyquinn and the 'bedroom phonecall' is referencing one of Haveunotthought's stories. I read it months ago but that part has always stuck in my mind because it was so clever._**

_Chapter 81_

_Dempsey was sick, he was sure of it. _

_He never smiled, barely spoke without a drink inside him and then, after the first or second he loosened up enough to tap his hand in time to the music, singing along quietly to himself._

_The next drink usually saw him scanning the bar in search of female company, picking out which lucky lady he intended to share his bed with that night._

_During their break from playing on the stage, the four of them always gathered at Dempsey's table for a round and Julius had got into the habit of remaining with him for the whole hour while the others dispersed to do their own thing._

_They got on well but it was only when they were alone that Dempsey really opened up._

_Her name was Harry Makepeace and she had been his partner both on and off the job. _

_A blonde – he'd guessed this before he'd been told because he'd noticed the women he hooked up with were always anything but. He knew her height to be around 5'5" – 5'6" from where his eye line fell when he relayed conversations they had had. He knew she was a Lady by birth and a true lady by nature except when she didn't want to be. Shit, he even knew which side of the bed she slept on after Dempsey had acted out the story of accidently answering her bedroom phone at the crack of dawn one morning and managing to convince their work colleague on the other end that he had dialled Dempsey's number by mistake. _

_Another thing he knew beyond doubt was that the man was living in hell without her – and she obviously didn't care._

_He seemed to lurch between love and hate, not understanding why she couldn't have __followed him to New York for Thanks Giving like they'd planned, why they couldn't have tried to sort out their problems. He refused to believe that she had really met somebody else but then the next minute he was calling her a whore for doing that very thing. He didn't seem able to get his head around any of it and Julius had begun to see Harry Makepeace as the crux of all his troubles._

_Julius was no shrink but he realised he was punishing her; desperately bedding as many women as he could in an effort to get back at her for not wanting him. Lately his standards seemed to have slipped too. But maybe it went beyond that. Whenever a pair of girls came in together, the good looking chick and her less attractive girlfriend, Dempsey had started hitting on the latter. Right now, he was getting busy with a mousey forty-something who was ten pounds or so overweight. But Jeez, she was grateful! Couldn't believe her luck, a handsome guy like Dempsey taking some serious interest in her, even if the alcohol was playing a major part in the seduction process. She was way out of her league and she knew it; nervous, self-conscious, waiting for the punch-line but Dempsey was making a real effort. He was leaning up close, looking directly into her eyes, making her feel special, playing her like a violin._

_His drinking had gotten out of hand lately. Dempsey had been arriving at the bar straight from work nearly every evening and staying until closing – unless he'd got himself fixed up with a woman of course. And his boss, who had taken exception to his Lieutenant rolling in late each morning reeking of booze had finally declared the fine line Dempsey had been treading as well and truly crossed after the incident last Tuesday._

_Dempsey had described himself as 'losing it' with a suspect… had to be restrained by a couple of his colleagues and said suspect had pressed charges. The cheeseball had shouted the place down when they got him back to the precinct, making sure everyone present knew exactly how he'd gotten his broken nose, split lip and bruised ribs. The chief had hustled him into an interview room and tried to placate him but the guy had been seeing dollar signs and a lot of prestige within the pondlife fraternity and the charges had stuck hard._

_The investigation was ongoing and Dempsey was currently suspended from duty. _

_Problem being, that seemed to suit him just fine –full pay and all the time in the world to blot out that world._

_The pretty girlfriend was at the bar with some company of her own but she couldn't resist a glance at Dempsey's table every few minutes. There was a look of consternation on her face, unable to comprehend why he'd chosen her nice but dowdy friend over her._

_Julius had the same thoughts as he took the steps back up onto the stage and slung the guitar strap around his neck._

"_Yo, Julius!" yelled Dempsey. "How 'bout somethin' we can sing along with, huh?"_

_He had his glass raised, a huge grin on his face and a freshly lit cigarette between his fingers. _

_This was the way it sometimes went – not always, but then it was very hit and miss, his frame of mind. Only when he was in this mood there was a tendency for the place to become a karaoke bar._

_The woman at his side appeared happy enough at Dempsey's request, no doubt impressed by his affiliation with the band. He put an arm around her and whispered something in her ear that brought a giggle to her lips._

_The band struck up the opening notes of Bruce Springsteen's 'Glory Days' and Dempsey jammed his cigarette into the corner of his mouth as he began to clap loudly, whooping and cheering. Moments later, he reached out to grab the table waiter as he passed by and ordered more drinks for them both. By the middle of the song, Dempsey was in full flow, singing his heart out. Funny thing was that he really didn't sound that bad and it always seemed to get the rest of the bar involved too._

_But he could see there was something going on beneath that shimmering pool of alcohol; something that glistened darkly and threatened to surface at any moment._

_He had confessed to Julius a few weeks back in one of his more sober moments at the start of the evening that he couldn't get through the night without alcohol. Julius had asked why he thought he needed it so bad and Dempsey had replied simply, "Because o' her"_


	82. Chapter 82

_Chapter 82_

_Harry was back at Camberwell Grove._

_She knew the longer she hid herself away in Kent, the more difficult it would be to finally go home to London so at the beginning of March, with her nicely expanding belly, she went back._

_That first night she didn't sleep. She lay in bed and thought she could hear them moving around downstairs in the living room. At the moment between wakefulness and slumber, she felt her wrists once more in the grip of the youth she thought of as 'Trainers' and she came to with a yelp._

_The following morning, she went into town and bought tins of paint and a twelve inch deep border depicting 'The Teddy Bear's Picnic'. By lunchtime she had chosen and ordered the nursery furniture and arranged for its' delivery the following week._

_She wanted to decorate the nursery herself; it gave her something positive to spend her time doing and took her mind off things. The living room was another matter, however. It no longer seemed 'fit for purpose' and she avoided using it altogether. But a few days later, she managed to get professional decorators in to completely transform the room, including the adjoining hallway area. Only after the carpeting had been replaced did it start to feel as though she might be able to continue living at Camberwell Grove._

_..._

_Three weeks after her return, she stood by the nursery window, holding the half glass of Champagne which had been allotted to her. It was Saturday morning and there were half a dozen of them gathered there to view her handiwork. It had originally just been Angela 'popping in' but somehow, she had allowed her to talk her into extending the invitation to a few other select friends and it had turned into drinks and nibbles._

_Angela had now just announced that they were taking her to lunch at Stooges and they weren't taking no for an answer as it was pre-booked and Peter, the owner had had to re-arrange another booking to accommodate them as it was._

"_I suppose I'd better go and make something of myself," said Harry as she sipped casually at her drink._

_She felt a ridiculous nervousness at the prospect of presenting herself in public as part of such a gregarious group. A few months ago, the thought would never even have crossed her mind; would have meant nothing, it was just what they did but now it felt like such a hurdle._

"_And how on earth will you improve on perfection?" flattered Henry rather sweetly._

"_Well, I think I've got my work cut out with this!" Harry indicated her baby bump._

"_Utter rubbish," he threw back instantly, "you're positively glowing, poppet."_

_Was she? She didn't feel as though she was. A lot of the time, she didn't feel anything at all except a grey emptiness. It worried her lately that it could affect the infant growing inside her, that the colourless torpor would eventually seep into the protective cocoon within her, casting a shadow over her daughter's life before it had properly begun._

_She knew for definite now that it was a girl. The twenty week scan had revealed that her instinct had been correct. Harry had been so thankful when Angela had offered to go to the hospital with her. She had been so dreading it, that return to the maternity wing car park. She still harboured the fear that she could be within MacKintyre's sights and she couldn't help but check over her shoulder whenever she went out. Would it be better or worse after the baby was born? Would she be better when her daughter was actually there to demand all of her physical and mental attention or would the frailty and vulnerability of a newborn make it worse?_

_God, why couldn't she just snap out of this lachrymose mind-set? Maybe then she would be able to get MacKintyre out of her head. He was low life scum using bully-boy tactics to scare her, that was all. But the fact remained that he 'had' scared her – petrified her – and whether she chose to believe his threats or not, she couldn't ignore them when it came to the people she loved._

"_Harry!"_

_Harry jumped at the touch of Marcy's hand on her arm and then quickly masked her disquiet with a laugh._

"_Sorry," Marcy apologised, "you're the last person I should be making jump."_

_Harry ran a hand though her blonde locks._

"_No, I'm fine," she assured her. "I'm probably just not quite with it at the moment."_

"_You are a bit twitchy, aren't you?" Amanda agreed readily and was immediately knocked back by a stern look from Angela._

_Inexplicably, Harry found herself blushing. "It's the hormones whizzing around," she joked desperately and then felt tears threatening to engulf her._

_Grabbing her by the arm, Angela turned her about to steer her from the room._

"_Right, let's slip you into something lovely before we go." _

_She glanced back at the others who were busy pretending not to have noticed Harry's distress for her sake._

"_We'll meet you lot downstairs in a few minutes and don't you dare finish that second bottle without me," she told them._

"_You're worrying me," Angela said blithely, flinging open the doors of Harry's wardrobe once they were safely inside her bedroom._

"_I'm alright, honestly."_

"_You most certainly are not."_

_She reached in and took a caramel coloured soft jersey dress off the rail. "This. I don't think you've even worn it yet, have you?"_

"_It's a bit… I don't know, it's a smock."_

"_Yes and you bought it because you're pregnant," Angela reminded her. "Maternity clothing is designed for pregnant women, Aitch – it's what you have to wear, it's the law."_

_Harry watched dejectedly whilst Angela removed the dress from the hanger._

"_Come on then, whip your kit off… oh how I long for someone to say those words to me."_

_Harry smiled and began unbuttoning the oversized shirt she wore with her leggings._

"_So is it really hormones or is it more life in general that's the problem?" pressed Angela._

"_It's…" Harry shrugged into the proffered dress and looked at herself disappointedly in the Chaval mirror, "…everything, I suppose."_

"_Everything meaning everything or everything meaning someone?"_

_For a fraction of a second, Harry's mind leapt to the notion that she was referring to MacKintyre but she quickly realised it was James who Angela was really thinking of. _

"_I just feel like it's all gone so horribly wrong. I don't even feel like I'm me anymore. I've got no job, no man and I'm six months pregnant. If anybody had told me I'd be in this situation a year ago I'd have laughed in their face."_

"_You miss him, don't you?" Angela asked as she adjusted the waistline of the dress, the better to accommodate Harry's swollen belly._

_Harry nodded uneasily. "It wasn't as though we parted on bad terms - not really."_

"_I really wish you'd tell him – give yourselves a chance. If the idea of having a little girl to love and cherish leaves him cold then more fool him but you'll still have lost nothing."_

_She folded up the leggings and placed them on the bed._

"_And that East end gangster type James had the run in with – surely you can't really be taking what he said seriously. James got him of the hook, didn't he? He got what he wanted."_

_Harry swallowed. She had spared Angela the gory details and applied civilian standards censorship to the telling of the story. Her friend might be a woman of the world but the full version was the sort of thing likely to play on her mind._

"_I'm taking it very seriously. James wouldn't have risked his livelihood otherwise. He could have faced a prison sentence himself for doing what he did. I don't think MacKintyre is quite sane," she added softly._

"_So if it wasn't for him," Angela asked, putting the shirt onto the coathanger, "would you have at least told James?"_

"_I really don't know," lied Harry._

"_Jewellery," Angela said, eyeing Harry up and down. "It needs something to pep it up a bit. How about that rope of pearls and the matching earrings?"_

_Harry shook her head. "No. I don't think so."_

"_But they'd be perfect."_

_Going to her dressing table, Harry pulled open a drawer and took out a jewellery case. "Actually, I broke that necklace."_

_Her fingers ran nervously over several items lying on the red velvet interior. "Maybe a brooch would look better anyway."_

"_How did you break them?" Angela asked with such a deadpan timbre that Harry turned around._

"_What?" she asked, rallying for time._

"_The pearls – how did they break?"_

_Gone was the jovial inflection and Angela was regarding her sombrely._

"_I… they just snapped."_

"_And the blouse; the bra, the knickers? They just fell apart, did they? Trousers? Boots?"_

_Harry started to feel her head swirling inside, a darkness creeping in._

"_I found them in the kitchen bin," she persisted._

"_I threw them away," Harry answered tonelessly._

"_What happened?"_

"_Nothing happened."_

_But Angela already knew, had been waiting in the wings for these last few months for when her friend felt able to talk. It had unsettled her considerably that whatever had taken place at Camberwell Grove, Harry had felt unable to confide in her closest friend. She had seen the way she had so easily slipped inside a shell since she had been away. _

_But now enough was enough._

"_The house was broken into; you binned every stitch of clothing you were wearing and you're telling me nothing happened? Come on, Aitch, I'm not stupid."_

_Harry had picked out a black and gold enamelled brooch and was now trying to fasten it to her dress._

"_Don't go on, Angela," said Harry tiredly._

"_Were you…" Angela took over but her fingers were clumsy as she struggled to get the pin to catch at the back, "…were you raped?"_

_Their eyes met._

"_No."_

_Angela held her eyes for a moment in an attempt to search out a possible untruth but Harry was obdurate._

"_We'd better go downstairs," she said, her finger worrying at the palm of her hand for the silver heart on the bracelet that she no longer wore, "the others are waiting."_


	83. Chapter 83

Chapter 83

Yousef Yahya replaced the receiver with a hint of a smile that highlighted his cheekbones and brought a radiance to his smooth, dark complexion. People told him (men included) that he had the look of a storybook Indian prince but at least it was the kind of stereotyping he could live with.

"They're en route," he told his colleague, "e.t.a ten minutes."

"He's gonna need a bloody good solicitor. I've heard Jarvis wants to bury 'im," replied the man at his side.

"Yeah, something to do with some heavy East end mob in the old days wasn't he?"

His fellow officer, Cowan sat a little straighter on his operators chair. "Dan Aylward upstairs told me it's borderline personal," he said with confidence. "His gang upset a couple of his colleagues and he's never forgotten it, so Aylward says."

Yahya raised an interested eyebrow. "That Aylward guy talks crap half the time but s'ppose that'd make sense, seeing as how Jarvis wants to be informed the minute Kalivas arrives.

A new arrival caught Cowan's attention on one of the c.c.t.v monitors in front of them.

"'Who's this then?" he murmured, zooming in on the woman now standing outside the door of the receiving area.

"Kalivas' brief?" suggested Yahya.

"So why wouldn't she go to Reception?"

"Dunno. Maybe she's not been here before. They park round the back then think they can get into the building this way sometimes, don't they?"

The intercom buzzer sounded and Yahya depressed the button.

"Can I help you, madam?" he asked with the utmost politeness.

"I'm here for Mr Andor Kalivas," Harry replied smoothly.

"You want Reception."

"Where's that?"

"Right round the other side," Yahya told her. "You want the Markham Street entrance at the front of the building."

"Do I?" Harry asked, checking her watch agitatedly as she looked up at the camera.

She swept her hair behind her ear and sighed. "Christ, I'm going to get the axe before I've even started at this rate."

"You're his solicitor then, are you?"

"I'm in danger of losing my client, is what I am."

Harry hefted the drop-handled folio case she carried to reinforce the solicitor assumption. She'd pulled it from the boot of the car when she'd left the memorial gardens and stuffed it full of anything else she could find to bulk it out. It already contained several unedited articles she'd been working on over the weeks, most of which were to be scrapped anyway and these she had carefully positioned to jut out of the top of the slim, brown leather case.

She hoped her attire was smart enough to pass muster - a dark, boat neck dress with cap sleeves. It had seemed a little sombre when she had dressed this morning but then, that was how she'd felt at the time as she had prepared to visit Philip. However, it moulded to her form well and wasn't without its charms.

"You should be okay," Yahya told her confidentially, "he's not even here yet."

"Thank God for that! I don't suppose you could let me in this way could… now I'm here?"

She knew full well what the answer would be but the question would at least act as a wedge between her having to leave and the extra information she might be able to glean.

"Sorry," said Yahya, "this entrance is out of bounds… unless you're under arrest of course. It'll only take you a couple of minutes to walk round anyway."

"Oh." Harry thought quickly, stalling for more chances to find out when Kalivas might arrive. "It's just that I'm told he wants me here for the processing so can't I just wait in there?"

"That's fine only you still have to check in at Reception first before they bring you through to Receiving."

She ran a hand through her hair, feigning slight exasperation. "Okay, okay. But I'm alright for time, aren't I?"

Yousef Yahya took pity on her. She didn't seem to be the usual overbearing, arrogant variety of criminal law solicitor that they so regularly came into contact with at SI-10 and he secretly wondered if she was quite up to the job of representing Andor Kalivas. Most probably though, she was just stepping in for a more senior colleague who was unavailable at present and she would hand over to them after the initial briefing.

He smiled to himself… otherwise the Chief Super would get his man before the judge by lunchtime tomorrow!

"You know I can't give you a time but let's just say, if you run, you'll be shown through in time for the meet 'n' greet."

"Really?" Harry beamed ingratiatingly. "Thank you so much. I'll see you in a few minutes then – face to face as it were," and she trotted off around the corner.

Standing with her back against the wall, Harry took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. So, she was just scant minutes from confronting Kalivas and her heart was racing out of control. Her palms were slick with sweat and she felt her dress clinging horribly but there was no way she was backing out now.

She didn't really know what she was going to say to him. Maybe she just wanted him to know that she knew it had been him in one of those balaclavas. Perhaps her knee in his balls would suffice. She wouldn't know until he stood before her.

Minutes ticked by during which she pictured herself standing with a gun in her hand, aimed directly between Kalivas' eyes and the tension that built up within her had her shaking.

What if she lost her nerve and couldn't actually say anything at all?

From out of nowhere, an unmarked black Honda Accord slid past and her eyes followed it, mesmerised by the way the sun glinted down the length of the vehicle.

Harry went back to the corner to watch the car pull up directly outside the Receiving Area doors. Three plain clothes police detectives emerged and then out stepped Kalivas himself, handcuffed to a fourth officer. Dressed casually in an expensive looking green striped polo shirt and designer jeans, he gazed around him for a moment.

Harry licked her lips, gratified by the sight. But then, as they moved off and she strained to listen to what was being said, her eyes strayedl to the smooth dusty concrete and she saw the white training shoes he wore on his feet.

Disgust spiked in her stomach.

Just a stupid pair of trainers but what they represented was a lifetime of pain and regret.

The thought galvanized her into action and she approached the group quickly, falling in behind as the doors were released by the officers inside the building. She slipped inside and felt the calming cool of the air-conditioning, a stark contrast to the heat of the car park outside.

"Hello, 'Mister' Kalivas," said Harry, loudly.

He turned, still shackled to the police detective who had brought him in.

Regrettably, she couldn't read his expression as he answered her. "'Sergeant' Makepeace."

The two uniforms, Cowan and Yahya behind the desk appeared confused. If she was a ranking officer, why on earth was she masquerading as Kalivas' solicitor?

The four plain clothes were curious.

"Should we have been expectin' you?" asked the tall, sandy haired one.

After a delay, she looked at him.

"No. I just wanted a quiet word with Mr Kalivas."

The detective, thinking there was a possibility she was attempting to muscle in on their glory, moved back to speak to her face to face.

"You got some authority here?" he asked, suspiciously.

Kalivas intervened. "The Sergeant and I go back a long way."

"As long as his charge sheet," Harry agreed, not taking her eyes off him.

One of the others joined in. "Think you could wait 'til we've got 'im tucked up in 'is suite, sweetheart? We've been waitin' a long time for this one."

Harry smiled sweetly, biting back her fury at his condescension.

"Like a flutter, do you?" she asked, her eyes still on Kalivas but her head half turned. "It's just that I'm willing to bet I've been waiting longer."

Kalivas chuckled. "I'd put your money away if I were you, lads. Sergeant Makepeace was there right at the start of my illustrious career, give or take a break-in or two."

But the officer he was handcuffed to was getting anxious.

"Look, you two can reminisce over old times some other time," he directed at Harry. "Let's just get your yer man 'ere processed shall we? Pete, get these off, would you?" he asked, holding his and Kalivas' cuffed hands up.

Harry felt as though her head was going to explode as she watched and she knew she wasn't going to be able to keep from visibly shaking for much longer.

Incredibly, it was Kalivas who began.

"You sussed it was me that night, didn't you, Harry? I saw it in your eyes at the restaurant the other night."

He wore a faint smile on his face that Harry wanted to wipe off so badly her hands tingled with the anticipation.

"And that amuses you, doesn't it?"

Her heart was pulsating within her chest, beating a hard, rapid tattoo.

"Not my finest moment believe it or not. Abusing women has never been part of my repertoire."

"It didn't seem to bother you twenty-three years ago when you were holding me down and that other bastard was using a knife to cut my clothes off!"

There was complete silence now - the shuffling and murmurs of dissension had stopped abruptly.

"Yeah, it did. Shook me up good and proper as a matter of fact," he said softly.

"You have absolutely no idea what you did," she continued" She had promised herself she would remain calm only now, she could hear an audible tremble behind that undertaking.

The tall, sandy haired cop looked between them uneasily.

"Hey, come on – what's all this about?"

You wouldn't give up," said Kalivas.

Harry gave out a gasping sort of laugh.

"I was pregnant!"

"Give up in the sense of admitting defeat. I didn't know you were expecting until MacKintyre took over. I tried to warn you only you were too bloody stubborn to take the hint."

There was something in what he said that hit home forcibly and yet she couldn't quite define what it was.

"Sergeant Makepeace," the tall cop spoke up, "are you making an accusation of rape against the suspect?"

Harry shook her head. "Even if I was, what would it matter now; the damage had already been done."

"I tried to tell you you needed to climb down off your high horse. MacKintyre hated how strong you were, he wanted you to be afraid of him – he wanted everybody to be afraid of him."

In her mind, she felt his hands binding her wrists again, shaking them in an effort to make her understand. 'Stupid cow' he had whispered into her ear and she remembered the exasperation in his tone of voice – there had been no menace, no threat…

"You ruined my life, Kalivas!" Harry blurted. "Because of you and MacKintyre and that other… freak, my daughter never knew her father. I couldn't even tell him about her because if I had, he said he'd have him killed."

"What are you talking about? You and Dempsey are still together! I thought you'd known he lost interest; he never even mentioned your name a month down the line. And those New York connections… never existed, just a load of hot air. That was MacKintyre's way of working, wasn't it – putting the frighteners on."

She couldn't feel, couldn't think. Every fibre of her being was taut and stretched, just waiting to snap.

"Certainly used to frighten me," he said into the silence. "I was a snot-nosed eighteen year old kid. Thought it was my chance to play the big man when he gave me that job. Truth was, it made me sick to my stomach… couldn't take it."

He sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

"Paul Vogel… the other bloke… he died a couple of years back. Cancer… brain tumour apparently, so I heard."

"Couldn't have happened to a more deserving bastard."

"I agree. He enjoyed it you see, the sexual violence."

"Catch her, somebody!"

Harry heard the words coming from some distance away and she felt herself tipping over into darkness. As she hit the ground, she saw a pair of white trainers in front of her face.

"Get her upstairs," yelled Chas Jarvis, striding out of the main corridor archway from where he had been standing.

Kalivas was attempting to get Harry into a sitting position but the arresting officer in charge reached down to pull him away from her.

From behind Jarvis, another figure flew across the room.


	84. Chapter 84

Chapter 84

**The arresting officer in charge of Kalivas was pulling him away from Harry as he attempted to get her into a sitting position when from behind Jarvis, another figure flew across the room...**

Dempsey yanked Kalivas up by the scruff of his neck with his left hand as his right formed a fist that came around and up, mashing horrifically into his face. A sickening crunch indicated that bone had been broken and blood began to spurt in a sudden bright red torrent.

"You dirty, sick f**ker!" Dempsey roared. "Get your f**king hands off o' her."

A punch to the stomach winded Kalivas before he'd even had an opportunity to understand what was happening and then Dempsey was on him, transformed into a cold blooded killer.

"You're dead!"

His face was shiny with sweat and spittle sprang from his lips as he raged, "You're dead meat, Kalivas."

Kalivas was on the floor, clutching at his broken nose and groaning in pain when Dempsey threw himself upon him with a snarl. Straddling his rib cage, he grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. Kalivas made a horrible choking sound and tried to twist himself away, inadvertently sprawling across Harry's lower legs as one of the officers was trying to raise her up. This only served to incense Dempsey who drew back his arm to land him an upper cut to the jaw. Kalivas cried out loudly. "I didn't hurt her, Dempsey… " he gagged, "I never would've done."

"You held her down, you bastard," Dempsey growled, his fingers closing around his throat again. "Now it's my turn."

The spree lasted only a matter of seconds as three of the police officers lifted him bodily away from Kalivas and there followed a tirade of shouted instructions and orders as control was affected over the situation.

"Let him up," called Jarvis to the two officers who were pinning Dempsey to the floor, his hands now in rigid handcuffs behind his back.

"Sir?" asked one of the confused officers.

One of the others was checking on Harry, now conscious and upright but utterly fazed by the pandemonium that had just broken out around her.

"Get the handcuffs off this man please. Sergeant Grieg and Hanley, take Kalivas straight through to Room Three and get the duty doctor to see him," shouted Jarvis.

"Gimme another couple minutes," Dempsey yelled, "and he can pronounce him dead!"

"Sergeant Grieg, keep the cuffs on, thank you."

Dempsey hung his head, mumbling obscenities under his breath.

"James?" asked Harry, bewildered. They were ten feet apart; she with an officer supporting her – he with an officer restraining him. She spoke his name again, louder this time, thinking he hadn't heard her the first time and when he still didn't respond, a dreadful anxiety pooled deep within her.

He'd heard everything… he knew now what had happened to her so why was it that the only thing he was offering her was the silent treatment?

Harry was escorted past the desk and down the open corridor, glancing back over her shoulder at the tableau behind her.

She wanted Dempsey to look her way but although he was back on his feet, he only had eyes for Andor Kalivas. She was in a daze. What had she been expecting to get out of this? Ranting at Kalivas was never going to solve anything. But Dempsey had heard her and his reaction had been explosive to say the least. Maybe now he understood why she had never gone to him and why she had never told him of Jay's existence. If she had had doubts about his ability to commit to a family, they paled into insignificance beside the fear MacKintyre had instilled and she prayed he saw that.

_Whatever you think of me, I always loved you_

* * *

"You knew about that?" Dempsey shouted at an equally furious Chas Jarvis. "You knew that'd happened? Just like you knew about my daughter."

"You'd better pray Kalivas doesn't need hospitalisation otherwise there's no way on earth I can dig you out of this one."

"Great. Just promise me you'll fix it for us to share a prison cell, okay?" he barked back.

Apart from Cowan and Yahya, they were alone now in the Receiving Area.

"Do you want these cuffs off or not?" Chas asked as he stood behind Dempsey, inserting the key into the lock.

Dempsey grunted but held his tongue, at least until he was freed from his shackles.

"So?" he asked roughly, flexing his wrists.

"Harry didn't tell anyone, not until three years later when she got pregnant with Ed. She'd bottled it all up until that point…" Chas turned away, squeezing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. "She was in a terrible state for a while… Look Jim, we can talk in my office; just give me half an hour to get this little lot sorted, okay?"

Dempsey seemed not to hear.

"She shoulda told me," he ground."

"She was petrified."

"I didn't get told nothin'. You all closed ranks and kept me out."

"It was what Harry asked us to do. You heard what she said. Terry MacKintyre led her to believe he was going to have you killed… and she was afraid for herself and Jay. I didn't know that at the time of course but when she said she didn't want you to be told she was pregnant I felt I had to just accept her reasons and respect her wishes."

Dempsey smiled malevolently. "Gee whizz, what a pal. And what exactly were these 'reasons' she gave, huh?"

"What do you think?" Chas answered curtly. "You weren't really a 'roses-round-the-door-picket-fence' sort of bloke were you?"

"And just what the hell does that have to do with anything? Harry wasn't exactly haemorrhaging baby bootees as I remember it, Chas. She had a career and promotion prospects – the last thing I thought she wanted was a kid!"

"You and her both! It's a hormone thing though, isn't it with women? She gave everything up to have Jay, including you."

Chas regarded him coolly as he turned his head away and was shocked to catch a glimpse of the blotchy redness around his eyes.

"Believe it or not," Dempsey said quietly, "that kinda sticks in my throat. I'd reached the point where I felt it was all or nothin' with us. I wanted to marry her but thought it'd scare her off if I asked… and kids? Ankle-biters was just some dim and distant dream.

"Come on, Jim," Chas hissed. "She did it because she loved you, you must see that."

Dempsey nodded. "Yeah," he said with quiet force. "She loved me so much she obliterated me from hers and my kids' life for twenty-three years; no contact, not a single word." He looked down at the floor. "I might just as well have been dead."

Chas could see his anger still simmering; in his rigid, poised stance, in the flare of his nostrils, the sweat on his brow and in the way his soft, brown eyes had darkened to cast iron in their white sockets.

"Dempsey," Chas began sternly but he was stalking to the entrance, pushing and then pulling aggressively on the handle of the bullet-proof glass door, finally kicking at it viciously as he cried, "You gonna let me out of this f**king place or what?"

Sadly, Chas nodded at the enthralled Cowan behind the desk, the door locking mechanism was released and Dempsey was gone.


	85. Chapter 85

_Chapter 85_

_**Why don't you try to do without him?  
Why don't you try to live alone?  
Do you really need his hands for your passion?  
Do you really need his heart for your throne?  
Do you need his labour for your baby?  
Do you need his beast for the bone?  
Do you need to hold a leash to be a lady?  
I know you're going to make, make it on your own.**_

'_**Why Don't you Try' - Leonard Cohen © 1974**_

_I had an offer made me last night," said Dempsey, tentatively._

"_Pick it up," said Julius, nodding to him as he fingered the fretboard and Dempsey began to follow on from the key change. "What was her name?"_

_Dempsey grinned, trying to keep his concentration._

"_Patrick Dougan. That anniversary party I was at… Oscar Clementino from the department… married twenty-five years, the schmuck! They held it at the Burlington Hotel, you remember me tellin' ya I was goin'?"_

"_Yeah, yeah, sure."_

_Dempsey was silent whilst he manoeuvred his way through the refrain._

"_Was outside in the lobby, takin' a breather and I gets talkin' to this Patrick Dougan fella."_

"_And?"_

"_You heard o' The Channel Islands – between the southern coast of England and the northern coast of France so he says?"_

"_Should I have?"_

"_He has a casino on one of the islands – Jersey. Says he has a position to fill that'd suit me down to the ground. He's lookin' for a new head of security and he thinks a streetwise New York cop, a.k.a., yours truly, would fit the bill… add a little pizazz, y'know?" Dempsey grinned._

"_You? Pizazz? No, I don't know," smirked Julius._

_A few more minutes were taken up as Julius guided him through his lesson._

"_You goin'?"_

"_Seriously thinkin' about it."_

"_You sure you're ready?"_

_Was he? Maybe he'd ask Doc Haydn when he saw him tomorrow. For a dumbass shrink, he was a reasonable kinda guy and he had to admit, the talking had helped unblock the grey cells over the weeks. He knew now it hadn't all been about Harry although just saying her name still had the power to knock him out of kilter sometimes. _

_He had issues with both of his parents apparently; the way his father had died so soon after the beating he and his brother had given him, the guilt over the blind eye he had turned to the physical abuse his mother had suffered at his father's hands over the years, the failure in his guiding role of older brother. _

_And there was Simone – loud, alcoholic, needy Simone. Had he taken her in or had she forced herself upon him, flooding his home with her crass, larger than life presence. Doctor Haydn told him that he had seen himself in Simone. He had put up with her because by rejecting her, he would have been admitting that he was unhappy with himself, that his own way of life was far from perfect._

_The death of his partner, Joey and the subsequent feelings of loss and betrayal, although obvious, had never actually been addressed in his haste to get away from The States and he had taken it with him to England as excess baggage._

_Haydn explained to him that this in particular had been a major factor in his current mental health issues; although Harry Makepeace hadn't died, the loss and betrayal were again present and compounded by the sexual nature of their relationship. And yes, like any good shrink worth his salt, he was more than ready to delve into the brutal truth about Dempsey's sex life. Not being one given to shyness, he had attempted to shock Doctor Haydn with his lust-filled tales of binge-sex but the good doctor had heard it all before and was keen to offer his analysis of Dempsey's behaviour. Julius Bell's private thoughts on the matter had been correct; he was punishing Harry Makepeace for what he saw as her rejection of him by using other women. By picking out the less attractive ones he was giving them the status and self-esteem he had felt was lacking in his relationship with Harry. But in so doing, he was feeding and reinforcing the negative view he had of himself and the alcohol was numbing the pain._

_Dempsey had been mortified – cut out sex and booze and what exactly was left to make life worth living? The department medical doctor he had been referred to though informed him that 'living' was something that he was going to need to work at after his physical had revealed a sharp decline in both liver and heart function and the results of his AIDS test were described as 'lucky'._

"_Wouldn't be goin' for a few weeks yet, anyhow," he told Julius. "Who knows, I may even be fit to mix with the upper echelons of decent society by then."_

'Upper echelons of d_ecent society'. He had a turn of phrase sometimes that bothered him. He'd got it off of __**her**__. It was like he was still trying to cling on. That woman had screwed him up, messed with who he was._

"_Ain't always decent people in decent society, Dempsey."_

_Dempsey knew what he was trying to say._

"_You don't know her," he smiled sadly and set to strumming out a tune on the guitar._

_

* * *

_

_For the last month of her pregnancy, Harry had got it into her head that he was going to appear on her doorstep; just turn up out of the blue. He would be here because he wanted to be, not because he'd received a letter or a phone call and felt obliged to be. And when he saw her 'in full bloom' he would realise that it was what he wanted – because that was how much he loved her._

_Such a crackpot fantasy and it killed her each time she thought of it._

"_Now you're going to make this look like a piece of cake, aren't you darling?" asked her heavily pregnant birthing partner. "I'm relying on you to set an example… deep breaths and decorum."_

"_And drugs…," added Harry as she felt the start of another contraction, "lots of them."_

"_No," Angela mocked, "we agreed you were going to get through this with just gas and air."_

_Harry gritted her teeth. "I distinctly remember ticking a box requesting pain relief as required."_

"_As a last resort."_

"_I think my last resort…" she lay her head back on the pillow and tried to breathe as she had been taught but it didn't seem to be quite the same as the 'pretend' breathing in the anti-natal classes "my last resort now I would have to say is cocaine. I've got the numbers of a few dealers…" she gasped, "within striking distance of the hospital."_

_The student nurse at the foot of the bed looked up with ill-masked alarm, causing her senior colleague who was going through Harry's notes with her to break into a grin._

"_Harry's a Detective Sergeant in the police, Tracy," she reassured her._

_Harry, who had recovered from the last contraction felt it necessary to correct her._

"_I 'was' a Detective Sergeant – until I 'copped' for this." She pointed to her rotund stomach._

"_That's what I like to hear," Angela beamed as they all laughed at the joke, " a sense of humour. Now I just need a cheery smile and I'll be quite confident I can pull this off myself next month."_

"_You really don't have much choice in the matter, Angela."_

"_I know but I want to be able to do it with aplomb."_

_The midwife rolled her eyes with a grin. "Not sure you'll manage that, love, if I'm honest."_

"_Neither am I," Harry agreed. "She'll be swearing like a trooper and demanding her husband books himself in for a vasectomy there and then… oooh…"_

_She ground her bottom down hard on the bed as another contraction took over._

"_That was only about three minutes, wasn't it?" asked Angela, anxiously._

"_Certainly was," confirmed the midwife. "Let's just take another little look at you shall we, Harry? You're doing everso well."_

_While Kathy lifted her gown to examine her, Harry held on to her kettledrum belly and stole a hopeful glance at the door._

_It could happen, couldn't it? Some disgustingly well-meaning soul could've gone against her wishes and got in touch with him. Just like in the plot of one of those incredibly poor American made-for-TV movies, he could turn up at the eleventh hour with a bunch of flowers and tears in his eyes. It could happen…_

_But then what? After that wondrous, glowing moment she had envisaged, what would follow?_

_Nothing – because it was all in her imagination and she couldn't let herself think about what she really wanted – it was just too painful._

"_Right, love," said Kathy, "this is where the hard work begins."_


	86. Chapter 86

_Chapter 86_

_It was never properly dark in the apartment._

_Early on, he had gotten the idea of a blackout blind for the bedroom but as the late nights/early mornings and copious amounts of alcohol had increased, the self-induced blackouts had taken over._

_Tonight he'd had a couple of beers, that was all – one before he'd got up on stage with the boys, just to steady his nerves and the other afterwards by way of a celebration of his debut. He had been on an adrenaline high. He found he got an incredible buzz out of performing to an audience, almost like chasing down a suspect – the applause sounded every bit as sweet as the click of the handcuffs._

_Only now he couldn't sleep. _

_Of course, that had a lot to do with the caffeine consumption. Whilst the others drank more beer, Dempsey had drunk coffee, making a concerted effort to dry out. _

_It was time._

_Over the months he had come to realise that there was nothing to be gained from staying in New York. He couldn't do his job properly anymore. He was hanging in there by the skin of his teeth. Maybe his heart wasn't in it now he didn't have Harry for a partner. Besides, the guy he'd been put with was mediocre to say the least; had a wife and a handful of kids, couldn't afford to go taking risks which was understandable but frustrating. His mother loved having him back but it wasn't like she needed him, after all, she'd managed four years without him around and she had his brother, Gil living not that far away. Gil had a family of his own now and it felt like the rift that had existed between them after their father died had, on the whole, healed. So maybe it was time to move on, to take the job offer on Jersey and grab that fresh start with both hands._

_Of course, there was another option that had been clawing steadily at the outer edges of his mind ever since he'd realised he'd seen enough of New York – go back to London, just to see her, to talk to her, to find out if she still felt anything at all for him._

_It was six months now since he had boarded that plane. So why was his longing for her still so overpowering. Even now, he could awaken in the morning and reach out for her. He vividly recalled waking several weeks ago to find his head pillowed on the breast of some woman whose name he didn't even know but for a tiny fraction of a second as he lingered on the borders of sleep, he had been with Harry._

_His cheek was blessed by the soft, warm feel of her skin and he imagined the scent of her filled his nostrils with a strange organic possession._

_His mind rolled over so pleasantly – the turbulent miracle of life and death all woven together. And then reality had stabbed at the moment viciously. He had recoiled with repulsion from the woman whose name he didn't know._

_Blue neon throbbed from the signage across the street and red and yellow flowed from the side of his apartment building. From dusk 'til dawn, the coloured lights pulsated through the draperies to throw subdued psychedelic images on the walls._

_Only half asleep, he drifted through the thickly cloying glow into a dark, disjointed dreamworld of streets he didn't recognise. For a while he walked along on his own, feeling lost and disquieted by the emptiness of the streets. There was no traffic, no people, no sound but his own footsteps echoing._

_He turned into a sidestreet and with relief, saw bright lights spilling from shop fronts and up ahead, throngs of people ambling happily._

_He continued walking, more confident now, more relaxed. A few of the shops even began to look familiar and it dawned on him that he had been here before with Harry – this was surely the altered state of Brighton._

_She was here and he had to find her – it was imperative that he found her before something bad happened._

_He began to run, searching left and right for any sign of her, for a flash of blonde, bobbed hair among the crowds._

_Something bad…_

_Panic was pounding through him as he raced on, seemingly invisible to everybody around until at last he spotted her on the opposite side of the street. But the traffic flow suddenly seemed to have increased and the speed at which it was moving, improbably fast for two lane traffic._

_Dempsey leap-frogged the street to the tune of blaring horns and screeching tyres, losing sight of Harry in the process. Peering down another street, he recognised the maze of twisting alleyways that made up The Brighton Lanes and he plunged into the ancient rabbit warren of tightly packed stone built shops and cafes desperately searching for her._

_He called her name again and again, somehow knowing that she wouldn't be able to hear him but feeling compelled to try all the same._

_His shoes kept losing purchase on the uneven cobbles and once or twice he almost fell, holding his arms out to steady himself._

_The mournful keening of jazz music was filtering from some distant bar and it reminded him of the black New Orleans style funeral procession he had stood and watched going past his Aunt Dora's house years ago when he was just a kid. It had been the full works; white horses with huge black plumes pulling a black, glass sided carriage containing the flower festooned white coffin. The bobbing black parasols had at once fascinated and frightened him but somehow, the music had really got to him._

_Suddenly he was upon her. In a darkened doorway of an antique jewellery shop._

"_No!" she shrieked, cowering from him._

_He held his hand out to her, scared by the terror in her eyes. "Honey, it's me. It's okay."_

"_You keep away from me," Harry cried, shrinking further back._

_Dempsey didn't understand. "Baby…"_

_He reached out, pulling her to him and knowing an intense joy at holding her in his arms once again._

_But Harry was gasping for breath and beginning to convulse._

_He wasn't James Dempsey any more – he was Terry MacKintyre, wasn't he?_

_Slowly, he held her away from him, feeling her start to sag in his arms._

_The doorway flared with blazing, fluorescent light and her black, tight fitting dress had turned into something demure and white – and bloodsoaked. It was blotting through the cotton fabric, pumping quickly from a stab wound in her abdomen and he realised with mounting horror, flowing from between her legs._

_He had done this to her. He was MacKintyre._

_He turned at the sound of shuffling feet and sniggering breaths behind him and found his grinning accomplices – his boys._

"_It's me, Harry, it's James!"_

"_I know," she wailed, both hands clutched to her bloody stomach. "Please don't hurt me any more."_

_

* * *

_

"_Christ!" he grimaced as pain shot through him. "Shit!"_

_He hunched__ forward, biting his lower lip as he tried to ride it out and after a few moments, it seemed to subside. Dempsey didn't move, convinced there was to be another onslaught. Was the pain real, manifesting itself in a dream or was it just imagination, induced by the dream?_

_He stopped holding his breath and gingerly swung his legs over the side of the bed. The pain had been real, hadn't it?_

_Naked and still a little shaky, he padded out to the bathroom where he filled the tooth mug with cold water and drank it down in one._

_A bullet in the head was what McKintyre had really said, not a knife in the stomach but it got the same heinous results. Why was it that nighmares always twisted reality in some subtle and unfathomable way?_

_He had to wipe the slate clean, start over. New York hadn't been the fresh start he had anticipated; how could it have been when Harry hadn't followed him? And besides, he had too much unpleasant history here, history that only Harry could have cleansed away. So it was over now, all this pretence. New York had just been a stop-over – and London? Harry? He didn't fit, not really. She had tried to make him fit by loving him but in the process she had damaged her own little world – upsetting the status quo. If he went back he'd just carry on hurting her – and so would McKintyre. _

_But deep down, he was scared of finding out that the 'someone' she had eluded to in that last phone call was still around; that she had moved on and no longer felt the same about him. That would be the killer and it would drag him right back down into the gutter._

_He had to take that casino job on Jersey. It was his only real option. _

_

* * *

_

"_Congratulations, love," said Kathy the midwife to an exhausted Harry at 10:11pm, "she's a little smasher."_

_Harry nodded in silent agreement, studying the tiny, screwed up red face, her pale hand lightly brushing over the fine, silky brown hair that covered her daughter's head. "She's perfect," she whispered._

_Only Angela noticed her eyes flitting once again to the closed door and the tears that filled them._

_The love she felt for this tiny infant was immense, almost overwhelming, as all-consuming as the love she had for the father._

_Harry suddenly broke down in sobbing tears._

"_Ah, darlin'," smiled the midwife, consolingly, "don't worry. You've just been through the wringer, haven't you? It's only to be expected that you'll get a bit emotional."_

_Angela leaned in to put an arm around Harry's shoulder and kiss her temple. _

_For once, she said nothing._

_Dempsey came to with a moan at his lips and his hands pressed against his own stomach. He sat up sharply, droplets of sweat running down his face and neck and over his bare chest._


	87. Chapter 87

Chapter 87

Reaching over, Dempsey opened up the glove compartment whilst he was driving and felt around until he found what he was looking for.

Flipping the box lid with his left hand, he shook the packet and raised it to his mouth, drawing out a cigarette with his lips.

He felt as though he was going under; being sucked down into the madness of a past he had deserted. It hadn't stopped after he had left London – for Harry the misery had ripened into fear and torment. Her life was altered irrevocably by the legacy he had left behind and until this week he had never known about any of it. What those men had done to her he couldn't let himself think about – didn't want to know because he was a coward. The scant information he had heard had been enough to turn his stomach. They had hurt her – whilst she was carrying his child… no, he couldn't even think about it, he daren't contemplate what that might have involved. Cowards had to walk away – cowards couldn't face the truth, that he had left her alone with the devil.

He scratched around in the glove compartment for a lighter but came up short.

"Shit," he muttered through the cigarette.

He tried the covered compartment between the front seats, the cubby under the ashtray, the ashtray itself, his door side pocket and even under his seat.

"Shit!" he hissed with force and threw the cigarette down onto the passenger seat.

If he'd known… if she'd just told him about Jay maybe he could have saved her from suffering at MacKintyre's hands. He would've done anything – anything she asked of him, hadn't she realised that? They could have gone somewhere far away; he would have travelled to the ends of the earth to make her feel safe. But in her eyes, he'd just disappeared and in a strange sort of a way he had. For a while he hadn't existed, he had been a husk, a burnt out wreck of a man who was no use to anybody. But which came first, the chicken or the egg?

What was he going to say to her. How could he possibly convey the horrific guilt that had embedded itself so deeply within his chest? She'd gone through it all by herself, no matter what the reasons behind it, he hadn't been there for her.

By the time he got through his front door, he was climbing the walls. He paced the living room for a minute or so, nerves jangling like he was coming apart. He hadn't felt this way in so many years.

Dempsey eyed the drinks cabinet, passing trembling fingers roughly through his hair.

Nah, not a good idea. There were better things to be doing at 3:00pm on a hot and sunny Tuesday, more practical and far more sensible things to take his mind off Harry Makepeace… Cavanagh, she was Cavanagh now.

Before he had time to re-think, Dempsey went upstairs and got changed before leaving the house again to numb his mind for an hour with a run at the local park.

* * *

"Gone?" Harry queried when Chas finally made it up to the hospitality suite.

It had taken a little while to get things straightened out with Kalivas. Realising he was now in a slightly better position for negotiation thanks to the hot-headed Lieutenant Dempsey, the drug dealer had cut a deal.

They both knew he could had got something better if he'd insisted on taking Dempsey's actions further but Chas suspected this hardened criminal felt the stirrings of remorse for the way things had turned out for Dempsey and Makepeace.

"He's gone? Why?"

"He was upset, Harry."

She'd been sitting up here for the past hour, worrying what was going on, wondering why James had blanked her, why he'd not said a single word to her. Yes, of course he was still angry about Jay – it was to be expected but his reaction to Kalivas, surely that meant that to some extent he understood.

"Upset with me?" she asked, tentatively.

"He's had a lot to take in, hasn't he," Chas suggested but Harry had heard the hesitation.

"It hasn't made any difference, has it?" she mused quietly, looking down at the disposable plastic cup in her hands that was half full of now cold tea.

Chas came and sat down beside her on the soft, plum coloured seating.

"Just give him a bit more time, aye?" he soothed.

"I think I've just made things worse. It's just one more thing he was kept in the dark about." Slowly, she put the cup down on the low table before them. "And it was too long ago for it to matter to him now."

"But you saw the way he reacted."

"Gut instinct. I should've told him. I should've given him some say in it but I didn't. It was unforgiveable!"

Harry's voice had risen just a fraction out of normal range.

"Did you ever stop to wonder why he's being like this?" Chas didn't wait for an answer. "Because he cares, Harry."

She stared into space for a moment. "These last couple of months… it's been so lovely… really lovely," she smiled vacantly. "We've had fun together – almost like old times and I knew I had to tell him about Jay but I just couldn't – didn't want to break the spell I suppose."

"Don't you think Jim feels the same way?"

She shook her head, despondently. "But what I've done, it's too big to... gloss over."

"Darlin'," Chas said, putting an arm about her shoulders and giving a quick squeeze, "you did it for a reason and eventually, he'll see that and accept it. And if he doesn't," he smiled gently, "then he isn't the Jim Dempsey I used to know and grudgingly admire."

"Accepting isn't the same as forgiving though. How can you forgive someone for keeping your child a secret for twenty-three years?"

Chas sat back against the seating, hands linked loosely between his legs. "Remember when Gordon Spikings was in full flow – giving you two a battering for something or other?"

Harry nodded, remembering their old Chief-Super with a certain amount of fondness.

"Oi! Bonnie and Clyde, get your arses in my office now!" Chas mimicked with the exact gruffness in his tone that Spikings used to use. "Well, if it isn't Laurel and Hardy! Where the hell have you two been?"

"Batman and Robin," she smiled, wistfully.

"Exactly. You belonged together, the dynamic duo. And you worked so much better together than apart. Spikings knew that better than anybody which was why he let you get away with blue murder to get the results."

Harry couldn't resist. "Dempsey lead me astray," she pointed out.

"Think he probably did but was that such a bad thing?"

"Maybe not."

"What I'm saying is, you couldn't work the same without each other, like a bow without the arrow, a gun without a bullet, one's no good without the other."

Harry smiled. "I'm seeing a dangerous weapons theme here though, Chas."

"I know," Chas grinned as he thought back. "You used to be a force to be reckoned with. The punters could never make you out – upper class blonde beauty and a tough, wise-cracking Yank. Wrong-footed them – didn't know how to deal with either of you. Fatal combination, as they say."

"I messed up, Chas," Harry said glumly. "I honestly believed what MacKintyre said; I thought he had the power over life and death but he didn't. I let him dictate our future – change it. What an idiot!" She laughed harshly. "Not really surprising that James can't even bring himself to look at me."

Caustic tears stung her eyes but crying wasn't an option, she had cried far too many tears over that night already.

"Just think for a minute," Chas badgered. "He's angry. What did he always used to do when he was angry?"

Harry shrugged. "Depends."

"When he was angry with _someone, _he'd have it out with them there and then, get it out in the open and clear the air."

He waited for her acknowledgement of that.

"S'ppose so," she confirmed.

"And when he was angry with some-_thing?"_

"He'd beat his chest, swear a lot and disappear for a while to cool down," she replied without hesitation. "Do you think that's what he's doing now?" she added hopefully.

"Don't you? I've got to say, in his position I'd be doing exactly the same thing. Difficult situation for anyone to handle." Then watching her bite her lower lip said, "he'll come round, given time."

But Harry knew before long she'd be prepared to beg his forgiveness. The agony of the love that had laid dormant for so many years had blossomed into a riotous, thorn-filled torment since his return and the only thing that could appease it was to feel that love reciprocated.

She had wondered… the way his eyes smiled at her lips when she spoke, inviting her to slide into his arms, the intense look she sometimes saw on his face when she caught him looking at her… did he feel any of that painful desperation too?

That night, after they had eaten at Kalivas' restaurant and then Dempsey had driven them back to his house – the mirror, the way he had made her body feel; the way he had made her crave him. It was like an addiction, this need to be near him. They had spent every day together last week but it still hadn't been enough. It was sheer agony to have him kiss her goodnight, not being able to respond with the passion she felt and ending up so wretchedly frustrated and wanton in her empty bed.

There had been no more invitations to sleep over at his place but she knew that was simply because Dempsey couldn't trust himself, he knew he'd make a pass at her and ruin the carefully fabricated, platonic friendship that she had placed as a barrier between them. She had done the right thing though in keeping him at arms' length, it would have been all the more heart-breaking to accept the way things were now had she succumbed to those desires. And she had so wanted to succumb. She remembered maybe a little too well the things he had been capable of doing to her and afterwards, his unashamed tenderness that had once upon a time both surprised and enraptured her.

She wanted that love back in all its' powerful, multifaceted glory.

Sitting up straight Harry placed her hands flat either side of her as she prepared to stand up.

"Then I'll just have to be patient, won't I?" she said cheerfully. "Look, Chas, thanks for everything and I apologise for gate-crashing the way I did. I hope I didn't hinder things too badly for your officers."

"Given them something to gossip about in the canteen," he grinned.

As they made their way to the door, Chas asked carefully, "I take it your feelings on the subject of making an official assault complaint haven't changed... pressing charges – now you know it was Kalivas?"

Harry shook her head firmly. "He's going straight to jail without passing go – even if you got a conviction for what he did to me it would barely make any difference to the length of his sentence. He's admitted it and that's all I'm interested in now."

"You're quite sure?" he checked.

Harry reached up and kissed his cheek affectionately.

"Definitely."

It felt as though a line had been drawn under it and somehow, she had been purged of that burden she had held so tightly inside her for so long. It was gone and all that mattered now was that James came to terms with all it entailed.


	88. Chapter 88

Chapter 88

"You ain't been pickin' up," Julius said accusingly.

"So sue me," Dempsey barked back, letting go of the door and stalking off down the hallway.

That initial expectant look on Dempsey's face when he'd opened the door hadn't gone unnoticed by Julius. He could read him like a book – he'd been hoping it was The Blue Blood Bitch come a-knockin'.

"What's goin' on, Dempsey? Clearly you ain't sick."

He followed him out into the kitchen and watched as he took a carton of milk from the refrigerator. His hair appeared to be wet from a recent shower and he was dressed for comfort in Bermuda shorts and an old, faded t-shirt.

"You gonna tell me what's happened or are you gonna make me waste a half hour of my life guessin'?"

Dempsey took down a glass, banged it down on the counter top and swilled it full with such vigour that the liquid almost sloshed over the sides.

"D'you want milk?" he asked harshly, his back still to his friend.

"I want answers."

Dempsey grunted out a laugh. "Be careful what you wish for," he said quietly, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck.

"You know, she called me yesterday."

As Julius had foreseen, his words had an effect. Dempsey tensed visibly, knowing exactly who 'she' was.

"She said you weren't answering your phone… seemed concerned. I told her you'd rung in sick."

Dempsey stood rigid, bracing himself against the edge of the counter.

"She suggested I might wanna stop by and check you was okay," he pushed.

"Is that so," Dempsey replied tonelessly.

"So here I am."

"I'll be in tonight, okay?" said Dempsey through gritted teeth.

When there was no response, he snatched up the glass and turned to face Julius. "I appreciate your concern," followed on from a tight smile.

"Cut the bullshit, Dempsey, this is me you're talkin' to. Just tell me what's goin' on here."

He took a long, slow draught of his milk before he answered.

"Harry's daughter…" He glanced out of the window, not even registering the view. "Turns out she's my daughter too."

The silence hummed on the warm air.

"Go ahead," Dempsey gestured with the glass, "why don't you say what's on your mind?"

"You really wanna hear it?"

"Sure, why not? Tell me how stupid I am and I'll tell you how right you are."

Julius pulled up a chair from the table. "Guess pickin' up from where you left off was never gonna work… not when where you left off was a disaster zone… but a kid, that's somethin' else."

He rubbed a big hand over the top of his closely shaven head and Dempsey was reminded of the similar action Gordon Spikings had so often employed.

"Nope," said Dempsey firmly, "not stupid for getting' back with her – stupid for leavin' her in the first place."

Suddenly, his eyes were bright with unshed tears and Julius marvelled at the effect this woman still had on the easy-going, smart-talking Jim Dempsey.

"She needed me… but that bastard, Terry MacKintyre, he and his boys…" He dropped his head, unable to meet Julius' eyes, "…they went to her home…"

Truculently, he smeared the wetness from his eyes.

Julius had to admit he was shocked. In the last few minutes, the whole perspective by which he had always viewed Harry Makepeace had swung to a completely different angle.

"What are you sayin'? She was raped?"

Dempsey shrugged as the tips of his fingers pressed briefly against his lips.

"I don't know," he shook his head, "they hurt her… I think so."

"Whadya mean, you 'think so'?" Julius fired out. "You forget to ask?"

"I mean, I don't know," he yelled. "I was at SI-10 when they brought Andor Kalivas in today. She was there too and I heard her sayin' a whole bunch o' stuff that…"

Dempsey swallowed down hard and ran a hand along his chin. Julius noticed the red and swollen knuckles.

"They hurt her," he repeated. "She was pregnant with my kid and MacKintyre told her I'd get iced if she ever told me."

Finally, he looked up at Julius.

"That's why she never came to New York."

"Jeez, man," Julius murmured, as he tried to mentally fill in the gaps.

"I left her here… a sitting duck. I never thought for one second that MacKintyre would go after her. I'd done what he asked, hadn't I?" Dempsey asked beseechingly.

"Dempsey, sit your ass down," Julius told him with a gentle assertiveness.

He didn't like it when he got twitchy like this, it made him nervous.

Displaying some reluctance, he roughly drew out a chair opposite and swung it around to sit astride it, fingers curling to grip the back hard.

Julius nodded towards the hands. "You ain't been in no fight for a loooong time."

Dempsey flexed his fingers. "Maybe if I'd had more practice, Kalivas would of gotten up again this side of a warm hospital bed."

There was something in Dempsey's voice that made Julius uneasy, a ragged, earthiness that smacked of 'the bad ole days'.

"Think you should tell me what's been goin' on these past few days, Jimmy. From the top, nice an' slow."

So Dempsey told him everything he knew, gleaned from his conversations with Jay and from the brief dialogue with Harry yesterday just before he threw her out. What he'd heard Harry saying this morning at the SI-10 building in Hammersmith he could practically quote verbatim, the words seared painfully into his mind along with Kalivas' response. And afterwards, the heated exchange between himself and Chas Jarvis.

The more he heard, the more obvious it became to Julius that both his friend and Harry Cavanagh needed to do some serious talking if either of them was to have a hope of understanding what they each had gone through – were still going through.

From the outset, he'd built up a mental picture of this woman as being beautiful yet manipulative, hot as hell when the mood took her but with an icy veneer encasing her heart that maybe Dempsey hadn't even been aware of.

His interpretation had been biased of course by witnessing Dempsey's steady disintegration from which he had never fully recovered. Over the years, she had never been far from his thoughts, even if he didn't mention her name aloud. But when he played with the band, it was there in the music – the music was where it showed. It could be heard in the songs he chose to sing. The poignancy of the lyrics or just the year of the recording was sometimes enough to give the game away. It was how he vented the emotion she still continued to rouse in him and luckily, it had only ever been Julius who understood that, or so he hoped.

He had seen Juliette change from a sweet and loving young woman when they met back in '94 into a capricious, bitter scold and Dempsey had to take some of the blame for that.

Juliette had known about Harry – probably nowhere near as much as Julius but the fact that during one of their numerous break-ups she had asked the question, "Did you ever meet Harry?" said a lot to Julius about the shaky ground their relationship had been built upon. Had she known deep down that she was the consolation prize? Despite the attractive lure of her youthfulness and her captivating prettiness, she wasn't the one Dempsey had wanted but with the remnants of a childish tenacity she had clung to him until the relationship had finally suffocated. If she had been fighting against Harry's ghost, she had certainly held her own.

But now Harry was very much alive and he'd been wrong to think that just because she had blue blood flowing through her veins, she didn't bleed the same as Dempsey.

"So is this where you give up?" asked Julius. "You moved heaven and earth to be with her again and now you're throwin' in the towel?" He shook his head with scepticism. "Man, the only thing either of you is guilty of is not havin' the moxie to talk to each other. You missed your chance back then – you gonna pull the same stunt again? You gonna walk away?"

Dempsey regarded him steadily.

"Tell me, Julius, what could I possibly say that would make any of this okay again?"

**I promise they do actually talk in the next chapter. I've definitely kept them apart for long enough. ;-)**


	89. Chapter 89

Chapter 89

"Mother's ruin," Harry said aloud, holding her glass up and humming a quiet smirk as she viewed the surprisingly depleted contents.

Was this her fourth or fifth she wondered, downing the last mouthful. If she couldn't remember, chances were it was the fifth.

With an exaggerated, ladylike grace, Harry raised herself up off the sofa and sauntered over to the roll-top cabinet against the wall where the drinks were kept.

"Gin and slim, don't mind if I do," she said breezily, pouring out a measure of Gin that wasn't so much measured as 'sloshed' into the glass. She topped it up with tonic water and contemplated a return to the kitchen for more ice and a fresh slice of lemon but the last two cubes hadn't had the chance to melt before she'd finished this last one so she really didn't need to bother.

On the return trip to the sofa, she staggered a fraction to the left and sat back down rather heavily.

"No bout adoubt it, Harriet," she said for her own amusement, "this has got to be your sixth."

She wondered how many it would take for her to pass out. But with her luck, she'd probably be sick before she did that.

She made the effort to sip delicately at this one before resting her elbow on the sofa arm and letting her wrist dangle as she gripped the glass in her hand.

"Gin and slim… Slim Jim."

_Jim. _Why didn't he like her calling him Jim? Not that she ever really had before that lunch at the restaurant in Kingston and even then she had only said it as a tease.

"James."

And then she remembered him once telling her how when she said his name drunk, it sounded like she was purring it.

"James," she said again in a sultry voice so that the 's' came out as a 'z'. She giggled and then put a hand to her mouth as the giggle hitched into a small sob.

Oh, God, what a bloody stupid idea to sit here drinking alone, everybody knew you got maudlin on that fatal combination of booze and self-pity.

Why had he said those things to Jay? Why had he told Jay he'd wanted to marry her mother and have a family with her – unless it was to make himself look better in her eyes of course. Maybe that was what it was, he was just trying to impress his new found daughter.

"_He wasn't lying, Mum," _she had said, "_he was upset."_

And how would Jay know whether he was lying or not? How could she possibly tell? Because she was a part of Dempsey, that was how. Watching them together at Rosie Jarvis' party had been unnerving. Seeing them side by side, it had been so obvious to her that she was his daughter that she had expected comment and exclamation from everyone around. There was such a pronounced resemblance in their physical appearance that it wouldn't be too hard to imagine an affinity on other levels.

Marriage and children? Dempsey? But couldn't the same have been said about Makepeace? Whoever would've guessed that deep down that was what career-driven, go-get 'em Harry Makepeace had yearned for? She hadn't even been able to admit that to herself until after she discovered she was pregnant. Whenever the subject came up, no matter from what quarter, she had shield away, unconsciously suppressing the urge to examine her natural instincts. Cops didn't have kids and cops who shagged their cop partners certainly didn't get married to them – even if they were in love…

Harry tried to drink the gin and tonic but found that she couldn't swallow past the restricting lump in her throat.

If he'd wanted those things, why in God's name had he never said? Had he assumed she'd balk in horror at the very idea? Of course he had, just as she would have assumed likewise of him. She'd had a tough career path ahead of her and a failed marriage behind her, and he – he was a renowned lady-killer struggling to be a one woman man.

What did marriage and babies have to do with them being in love?

Harry stood up a trifle unsteadily, wrapping an arm about her waist as she forced another sip of G&T past that lump.

It was all too late now anyway and she'd been a fool to think otherwise. Dempsey had come looking for her but he hadn't liked what he'd found – a lifetime of deceit and there was nothing she could do to change that.

It seemed that knowing of MacKintyre's part in it made no difference to the way Dempsey viewed the past and she couldn't deny that at some point in the intervening years, she could have got in touch, could have explained. But by then there had been other considerations such as the feelings of her husband, her son and Jay.

Poor Jay, stuck in the middle of this whole fiasco. What sort of a relationship could she expect to have with her real father, even though there was clearly already some tenuous sort of bond between the two of them. And the agony all this was causing Philip. So much collateral damage…

Tears dripped down into her drink as she took a sobbing gulp.

She wanted him so much. Why couldn't he want her back?

Harry went to the window and pulled a curtain aside. In her mind's eye she had seen his car pull up at the kerbside, had seen him step out onto the pavement, almost alien to her in the beguiling shadows cast by the street lights. Of course he wasn't there and Kettleworth Avenue was still and peaceful, as it should be at nearly half past ten on a warm, mid-week July night.

"_Give him time", _Chas had said but this waiting was killing her. How long would it be? And then how would she cope if he came to the conclusion that he really didn't need her in his life?

"Just let me talk to you, Dempsey!" she cried aloud in frustration, her hand trembling as she raised the glass to her mouth.

Alcoholic oblivion suddenly seemed immensely appealing. How could you hang around waiting for something that might never happen?

Harry strode out to the kitchen, hips swaying and her head held high even as the tears continued to roll down her cheeks.

"Number seven!" she declared purposefully. "Or number six. Who's counting, anyway? Certainly not me, James."

Harry tossed the battered slice of lemon from out of her glass into the bin and with the tip of her tongue poised on her upper lip in concentration she began to steadily cut another slice on the chopping board.

Then she went to the freezer and took a couple of ice cubes from the bag in the bottom drawer. Staring down at them in her hand, it suddenly seemed quite fascinating that although her senses recognised the coldness, she couldn't actually feel the biting pain that should be accompanying it.

As she gazed down at the ice cubes, she became aware of a familiar, insistent sound drifting in through the doorway.

Her mobile phone was ringing.

Thrusting the ice unceremoniously into the glass, she carried it unsteadily back into the living room. For a moment, her mind went blank as she fought to recall where she had put her handbag. The ringing seemed to reverberate throughout the room, in her head, in her stomach and in her chest.

"Not him anyway," she muttered, dragging the bag up from the side of the sofa although her heart was pounding now all the same.

"It's Angela…bored, bored, Angela."

It wasn't Dempsey.

Her friend was babysitting tonight for her newborn granddaughter and most likely wanted to catch up whilst the baby was sleeping.

It wasn't Dempsey.

Harry tucked her hair behind her ear as the fingers of her other hand latched onto the phone. "And what have you got to tell me, darling?" she asked in a fond and soppy tone, squinting a little as she tried to see the screen.

A tiny bleat of shock escaped her lips when she saw the caller i.d.

Sliding the phone open, she repeated aloud what she had just read. "Dempsey."

There was a slight pause followed by what sounded like a sigh.

"Hi. I wonder if you could help me. I'm looking for a lady by the name of Harriet Makepeace."

Harry's breathing was so shallow she was incapable of getting any words out but Dempsey carried on anyway.

"Ya see, I really need to talk to her. Harry and me… seems we haven't talked for a long, long time and I was kinda hopin' to… get a hold of her."

She needed to speak; the words were welling up but somehow she couldn't get past the melodic lilt of his voice, drawing her to him and holding her close.

"Is that you, Harry?" he asked quietly.

"It's me," she whispered back.

"I'd like to see you."

"Wh…" it came out as a whimper, "when?"

"Now," Dempsey said with an eager urgency.

"Alright," she replied without hesitation. "Are you coming over?"

"I want you here."

She laughed excitedly at that, not knowing if she should be interpreting his words in quite such a passionate sense but relishing the notion all the same. "I can't. I've had a drink."

"So've I, Princess. You gotta come to me."

He had, hadn't he? She could hear it now.

"Actually," she giggled, "I've had quite a few."

"Snap!"

"I'm quite sure you haven't had as many as me."

"I just wanna see you."

"Dempsey, I'm pissed!"

He chuckled, that deep, throaty laughter that weakened her knees and that, combined with the gin, saw her slither down onto the arm of the sofa, clutching the phone in earnest.

"I mean it, Harry, I gotta see ya. I need you."

"James, there's no…" she began but he was talking over her.

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna go make coffee, lots o' coffee and you're gonna sober up while you wait for the taxi I'm about to order…"

"Taxi!" she interrupted. "It'd cost an absolute arm and a leg to Kingston!"

Dempsey laughed loudly. "Hey, if it bothers you, the bar's got a cab company account. I can claim it on expenses – tax deductible, not a problem, okay?"

Harry was back on her feet, albeit a little shaky. "Okay," she agreed delightedly.

"Coffee. Did I mention the coffee?"

"Lots of coffee," Harry confirmed.

"And throw some things into an overnight bag."

Harry grinned. "Overnight bag?" she queried with a mocking inflection.

"Yeah but you ain't gonna need no nightgown," he told her salaciously.

Harry found herself licking her lips. "Really, Dempsey! How presumptuous of you."

Her haughty tone drew another chuckle from him. "Why Lady Harriet, you always did had a dirty mind. You got your Tequila t-shirt here is all I'm sayin'."

The night she had worn that t-shirt she had shared his bed and the thought of doing the same thing tonight gave her tingles in places that caused her to briefly close her eyes to stop her mind from wandering.

"So I have," she managed in a voice that could leave him in no doubt that she was referring to her mind rather than the t-shirt.

Again he laughed, low and deep before suddenly blurting, "I'm sorry, Harry… 'bout this afternoon, runnin' out on you like that…"

"It doesn't matter." Because now it really didn't.

"Yeah, it does. I freaked and I'm sorry."

"Perfectly understandable. You've had a lot to take in," she echoed Chas' words, slurring just a little.

"And I guess we've got a lot to talk about now… finally."

Harry felt the tears spilling over again. "James, I'm so sorry," she cried. "I ruined everything… we can't ever have any of it back again and that's all my fault… oh God, I'm sorry."

She gulped noisily, trying to contain herself and failing.

"Baby…" and she heard just how choked up he was too, "hang up the phone, let me call a cab. We're gonna make this right, okay?"

She nodded in agreement, sniffing back the tears.

"Okay?" Dempsey pressed forcefully when he didn't hear any answer.

"Okay. Yes." Almost fearful least he should think her complacent, Harry found herself rambling somewhat. "I'll get some things together, it won't take me long; just a change of clothes, some toiletries, a bit of make-up and I suppose I'd better go and stick the kettle on although I'm not sure how much more liquid I'll be able to manage tonight and it's a good few miles to Kingston-upon-Thames, isn't it?" She let out a drunken, panicky giggle.

Harry stopped, breathless. "What time should I be ready for?"

"How 'bout eleven? The taxi'll be there at eleven and you'll be back here with me within a half hour. Sound good?"

It sounded to Harry, her mind dulled and untethered by the gin, rather like something she could only have fantasized about.

"Mmm," she hummed softly, "I can't wait."

"My sentiments exactly," and Harry heard the grin enfolding his words.

They both fell silent then, caught up in their own happy haze until Dempsey spoke.

"Think we should hang up now, babe."

"Dempsey," she whispered back.

"Yeah?"

"Don't call me 'babe'."


	90. Chapter 90

Chapter 90

_Don't wish it away – enjoy it, _Dempsey told himself.

When you were a kid, the run up to Christmas or birthdays, waiting for your favourite TV show to start on a Saturday morning or the visit from Aunt Dora on every third Wednesday night of the month just after your dad had gone out, meaning you and your brother got to stay up a half hour later…

All that time got wished away, unappreciated and wasted. You had to have lived a little before you learned the true value of anticipation.

Still didn't make it any easier waiting for Harry though.

And like a kid, he had levered himself up onto the stone wall that fronted the property so that his legs were hanging a foot off the pavement.

In his hands he held a chrome thermos mug of coffee which he was sipping from nervously. Balanced atop the wall beside him was another one for Harry and next to that, his mobile phone which thus far he had resisted employing to track her progress. He'd made a deal with himself that he wouldn't call until 11:45pm although he knew if it came to that there was a real danger that she'd chickened out. But it hadn't sounded when he'd spoken to her like she'd had any doubts. What he'd heard coming through loud and clear was the mirror of his own wants and desires, alcohol fuelled, yes but in the form of Dutch courage. It was real simple – despite it all, neither of them wanted to lose the other for a second time.

Dempsey checked his watch again for the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes, forcing himself to read the dial properly and take in the fact that it really was only two minutes ago since he'd last looked.

"Come on, Princess, tell the cabbie to step on it," he murmured.

He drank down another mouthful of coffee and wondered if it actually was having any sobering effect. It was hard to tell with the adrenaline that was flooding his bloodstream.

Throughout his entire life, Harry had been the only woman to make him feel this way. Plenty had gotten him hot under the collar, turned his head, made him sit up and beg for a while but lust wasn't the same as need, wanting somebody wasn't the same thing as having to be with them just to feel whole. He hadn't just missed Harry over the years, he had missed a piece of himself as well.

Last week, life had been good.

The two of them together again and almost an 'item' had felt so right and she had felt it too. But still there had been that gap between them that he just couldn't seem to bridge. Deep down he'd always known it had nothing to do with 'taking things slow', but had figured whatever the reason for holding back the consummation of their relationship, she would have to tell him sooner rather than later, before they both exploded. He smiled broadly at the thought. In a way, her reason had been quite ironic, simple guilt over the result of one of their previous conjugations.

Holding Harry in his arms, kissing her, stroking his fingers through her hair, came as natural as breathing and yet like life itself, he acknowledged it as something of a miracle.

He remembered their lunchtime visit to The Mayflower pub in Bermondsey last Thursday. Harry had been convinced they'd been there before years back whilst they were working a case but he couldn't recollect it at all. They'd stood out back on the small enclosed 'jetty' with their drinks, looking down over the ancient timbered handrail at The Thames below them. It was an idyllic little pub that reeked of English heritage, perfect for a relaxing summers afternoon get together although they'd only stopped for a couple, preferring to spend their time walking slowly along the side of the river afterwards.

Harry had amazed him that day. As they had stood side by side, forearms resting on the thick, blackened wood barrier, worn smooth and shiny with age and warmed by the sun, she had suddenly turned to him, a curious half smile playing at her lips. Reaching up, drink in her hand still, she had looped her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. Right there on the jetty, surrounded by dozens of people, she had kissed him like they were all alone in the world.

After he had recovered sufficiently to query the action, she had replied with a slight blush to her cheeks, "I just thought it was long overdue."

He got it – it was called reparation.

Another look at his watch told him it was 11:27pm.

Any minute now, surely.

Saturday nights' revelation had cut him deep, he couldn't deny that. It had hurt like no other pain he had ever experienced before. It had opened up a huge chasm, a void where the life of his child should have been and the hollow place had filled up with vitriol.

If Jay hadn't have come seeking answers he didn't know when he would have been able to face Harry again. It had almost felt like the dream had collapsed and was withering away. But Jay wasn't a dream, she was very real and very much his flesh and blood and even if he could turn Harry away, he couldn't reject his daughter simply because he hadn't known about her.

She had come to him belligerent and accusatory, still unwilling to fully accept his unawareness of her existence for all these years. Any why not? He'd turned every preconceived idea she'd ever had about her real father on its head just by being at a damn party. But he had won her round, despite her genes; her mother's stubborn and sometimes querulous attitude and his bull-in-a-china-shop approach. Oh yeah, he could see both of them in Jay alright and the realisation was both fascinating and frightening at the same time. Him and Harry both mixed up in there – it was kind of nice. Jay told him it was almost a relief to finally meet the man who had been kept a secret for so long. She bombarded him with questions regarding the circumstances under which she had been conceived and the reasons for him leaving Britain so soon after, determined, it seemed, to catch him out if it were possible.

Dempsey had been as honest as he could be by putting aside his current feelings on the matter of Harry's deception and simply telling it like it was: he had loved her mother like no one else and had regretted the missed opportunity of marriage and children all his life. But their very different backgrounds, work and Terry MacKintyre had, in the end, forced them apart. When she had pressed him about the court case, he had omitted MacKintyre's threats – that was something he didn't feel comfortable telling her about, instinctively recognising it to be the kind of thing that would prey on her mind. If Harry herself wanted to tell her, that was her decision and knowing what he now did about the subsequent events, he was glad he'd made that choice.

From the start, she made it obvious she didn't want to like him. He could understand that but it didn't mean he had to accept it and he worked her round stealthily with intuition, guesswork and a good dollop of the old Dempsey charm. He got the impression that she wasn't completely falling for it but that she appreciated the effort in a grudging fashion and that in itself gave them a mutual understanding. She spent some time telling him what a wonderful father Phil was, goading him with tales of paternal heroism. Dempsey took it on the chin. When she began castigating Harry, he held his tongue, not easy to do, even when love and hate resided in the same camp. And after she'd got that off her chest they had found common ground in their police careers for a while. By the time Jay left an hour later, they had talked about and found like-minded interests in everything from food to the perils of internet music downloads and without a shadow of a doubt they shared the same sense of humour.

So in a way, Harry couldn't have timed her visit any worse. Turning up like that had only served to reinforce his negativity towards her; not only had she withheld his lovely daughter from him, she'd thought he'd unwittingly slept with her! He'd just seen red, feeling that dream slipping away.

He would hear a car approaching from some distance away.

11:33pm.

Dempsey sat up straighter, craning his neck to see.

The chance to see Kalivas put away had been irresistible, tying off that dirty little lose end that had been the beginning of their demise. But Harry being there already, confronting Kalivas and accusing him of…

It was a Jaguar V8 two door coupe – nice, only Harry wasn't in it.

Just what had they done to her, to his Harry?

It was something he wouldn't be able to hide from forever. It was what she'd wanted to tell him yesterday but he hadn't given her the chance because he'd been too caught up in his own feelings just as twenty three years ago he'd been too caught up escaping from his feelings with the aid of women and alcohol. He should have come back to London to claim her and his child but instead he had begun a new life on Jersey. That was a decision he would always regret.

11:35pm

"Where the hell are you, Harry?" he murmured.

He desperately needed her to be here with him and until that happened he couldn't begin to put anything right. No matter what the outcome, it was important that she knew he loved her. He wanted her to know that he'd never stopped loving her, even if there had been days or even weeks slip by when he hadn't thought of her.

It had always been Harry. Only Harry.

11:37pm

He drank from the thermos mug, the coffee tasting bitter now. She'd come. The fingers of his left hand played over a patch of coarse lichen on a lump of the stone wall. It made the wall alive somehow, rough skin, dry and scaling. Absently, he worked at it until it was smooth.

11:39pm

His heart was pumping and he looked up at the sliver of a silver moon as he sucked in a deep lungful of the warm night air.

_Don't do this to me, baby. We both made mistakes, we both gotta put 'em right._

The sound of a car engine growled low and sweet and Dempsey's head whipped to the left. Straining to see in the poor light, he shuffled to one side agitatedly, bringing his leg up and digging a heel in atop the wall.

There were two cars – one of them had got to be her.

The first cruised by with a taunting sluggishness, two young women not even aware of his existence and the second, moments later, a lone driver, a man of about his age who glanced his way but never registered what he saw.

11:42pm

His attention had been drawn away from the vehicle approaching from the right. A taxi in the left hand lane drew up smoothly alongside the kerb.

Awkwardly, Dempsey shoved his phone into the pocket of his shorts before grabbing up the other thermos mug and dropping down from the wall.

She was there in the back seat, looking up at him with something akin to apprehension controlling her expression.

Holding the two mugs against his chest, he seized the door handle and got it open for her. He watched as she pulled a large, khaki coloured leather holdall from across the seat towards her and hitching her handbag onto her shoulder, stepped out onto the pavement.

The taxi driver leaned backwards to speak.

"Alright, Dempsey?" he asked cheerfully.

Dempsey's reaction was delayed by his inability to take his eyes off Harry.

"Hey, Jerry," he acknowledged eventually.

"Delivered safe and sound," he chirruped. "Sorry I took a bit longer than expected; temporary traffic lights on Cork Street and then a police diversion soon as we hit Putney, would you believe?"

Dempsey grinned. "Yeah, I'd believe it. These things never run smooth."

He ducked his head inside and passed Jerry a folding one.

"Somethin' for your trouble."

"Oh cheers mate. Thanks very much."

"No problem."

Slamming the door shut, he faced Harry, taking the holdall from her and handing over her coffee. Their eyes never parted even as the taxi slid away into the night.

"Thanks to temporary traffic lights and police diversions, I was gettin' a little anxious here," he told her quietly.

Harry didn't answer, instead wrapping her arms around his chest and pressing her head to his shoulder. In response, he dropped the bag to the ground and pulled her up against him in a bear hug, sighing a deep, guttural release of tension as they stood alone together on the pavement.

* * *

**Oh, come on, you knew I was going to drag this one out. You didn't really expect fireworks and the 1812 Overture yet, did you?**


	91. Chapter 91

Chapter 91

They didn't move for a full minute, just stood there, enjoying the warmth of contact and the feeling of well-being that it brought.

Harry was the one who stirred first, asking, "Shall we go in?" as she released her tight grip and turned her head away quickly so he wouldn't see her face.

He didn't need to – he could feel the dampness of his t-shirt against his breast.

Collecting up the holdall, Dempsey started to walk with her, their arms around the others waist as they made their way up the drive and passed under the laburnum and up to the bottle green front door.

It felt like he was bringing her home.

"Where's the straw?" Harry asked as they took the step.

He didn't get what she meant until she lifted the mug with a smile and he remembered telling her of his supposed aid to sobriety.

"You still need it?"

She nodded. "I think I might," she said with a smirk. "You?"

"We've kinda been proppin' each other up since you arrived so you'll have to decide after I let you go."

They looked at each other, both thinking the same thing – they didn't want to let go.

Dempsey led her by the hand into the cool and pastoral lounge, steering her to the deep cream sofa where they sat beside each other, their bodies not quite touching.

Now the moment had arrived, neither of them knew where to begin and for a few seconds, it seemed awkward.

"Sorry for draggin' you out here at this time of night," Dempsey began. "I just felt like we really needed to…" he stopped before he said 'talk', knowing that word backed her into a corner sometimes.

"Clear the air," she finished for him, "and no, I'm glad you rang, I was afraid you'd decided I wasn't worth the trouble any longer. I haven't exactly made any of this easy for you, I know."

Dempsey smiled ruefully. "It was never gonna be easy for either of us."

"I know but I should've been honest with you – from the start, when you first got in touch. It was just that the timing never seemed to be right, I mean…" she turned her hand palm up and laughed faintly, "when do you tell somebody they've got a secret love child?"

"Preferably before the secret love child does?"

Harry threw herself back against the sofa with a sigh.

"I had absolutely no idea Jay knew – and Ed of course."

"They okay with you?" he asked, concern softening the question.

"I haven't talked to Ed about it yet. I don't know how deeply he feels affected by it. And Jay, well, as you said, she's angry with me, naturally."

Harry sipped at her coffee - with a splash of milk, just the way she liked it. "Funny thing is she's angry on your behalf too. She thinks I treated you abysmally."

"Guess that means she doesn't know about the visit from MacKintyre's flunkies."

The words hung heavily between them and she rolled the mug slightly between her hands in a nervous gesture. "No."

"Don't you think she should?"

"It's not something I find very easy to talk about."

"I can appreciate that," he said gently, "but _I_ need to hear it. When you told me you'd had a suitcase packed for New York… was it that day?"

Harry nodded. "I was hours away from leaving for the airport. I'd made my decision you see, I'd decided that you had a right to know I was pregnant and if it was something you… couldn't handle, well, I'd just come back to England and deal with it on my own."

She looked away again embarrassed.

Dempsey composed himself before asking the next question.

"I need to know – were you… raped?"

There was pure dread in his eyes she realised. He was afraid of her reply and suddenly she was afraid too. What if the truth wasn't enough for him?

"I was scared, James."

Her hands were sticky with sweat and she grasped the mug tighter to stop the shaking.

"I was really scared. I believed what he was telling me."

Christ, what was she telling him, thought Dempsey. That she didn't put up a fight? She let them do it?

Dempsey rubbed at his chin with a trembling hand.

Of course she did, what other choice did she have? She was pregnant.

He shook his head in misery as he gazed down at the floor. "My fault," he mumbled. "I as good as threw you to the wolves when I left."

"No you didn't, of course you didn't. How were you supposed to know what was going on in the mind of a psychopath like MacKintyre? He just realised that he could turn your going to his advantage. He still wanted a cop on his payroll and he thought I fitted the bill equally well."

He swallowed, his throat throbbing and jawline hurting with the effort.

"Tell me."

"They used a knife… and they wore black balaclavas."

She had to tell him the truth, what had really happened – his own thoughts were killing him – and yet she needed him to understand how bad it had been for her, that she had felt there had been a good enough reason for not going to New York and for breaking all contact with him.

Dempsey just nodded, his eyes watering.

"Kalivas held my arms while the other one… what did Kalivas say his name was… Paul Siegel…"

"Paul Vogel," Dempsey corrected tersely.

"… he used a knife to cut my clothes away…"

Harry wanted to make him see how scared she had been – that there had been justification.

"I had this string of pearls…" Her hand went to her throat, "they went all over the place…"

She didn't realise she was crying now. "I just pretended it wasn't happening, I tried to close my mind up from it but when MacKintyre came, he wouldn't let me do that."

Unconsciously, Dempsey had leaned towards her until their knees were touching.

"Okay," he prompted, tonelessly.

"He'd found me in the hospital car park the week before just after I'd had my first scan but I'd told him I was visiting a friend. I thought he'd believed me but it turned out he'd seen me looking at the scan photo and put two and two together."

Harry briefly turned her head to gauge the affect it was having on him. He was like stone.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"He said that he knew you'd gone but that I could be the replacement as well as his… entertainment. He said he had friends in high places and could 'advance my career.'"

"Uh huh," Dempsey murmured.

"He wasn't pleased with my refusal, hence the late night visit. I knew my only option was to… just let them get on with it – if they hurt me, I ran the risk of them hurting the baby. But that wasn't what MacKintyre wanted; his aim was to break me mentally, to control me and eventually he did it. It was all superficial, the cuts on my neck, my hands and stomach but I'd never been so frightened in my life and he said if I ever saw or spoke to you again, he could have you killed. I never questioned the validity of that. I just accepted it because I thought he was capable of anything. When I lost it, he couldn't have been more delighted – even took a Polaroid to mark the occasion."

Harry laughed sharply as she wiped the tears away, still barely registering her own emotion, so fixated was she on Dempsey's sombre reaction.

And then piteously she told him, "I wasn't raped. Maybe if I had been it would be easier to explain myself to you now."

The words seemed to force Dempsey to pull himself together.

"What?" he asked, looking at her slightly glassy-eyed.

"They didn't rape me. MacKintyre got what he wanted when I started screaming. He called it humility."

"No. No Harry. You said, if you had, it would have been easier to explain yourself… _to me" H_is voice rose on the last two words and a fire danced fiercely in his eyes. "I don't understand. What is that supposed to mean exactly?"

"It was all just empty threats, wasn't it," Harry threw back.

"You didn't know that at the time!" he cried hotly.

Why were they shouting? Why were they both so angry, he wondered.

"Of course I didn't but if I could tell you they'd raped me, wouldn't that make it easier for you to forgive me for not telling you you were going to be a father?"

Dempsey jumped to his feet. "Now wait, let me get this straight. You're sayin' that those bastards tortured you but you think if they'd raped you, _'I'd' _deal with it better? Are you cuckoo, huh?"

He scowled down at her, nostrils flaring. "Are you freakin' nuts, Harry?"

"It was all I could do," she shouted back, not hearing what he was telling her, so certain was she that his only concern was her lifelong silence. "I thought he'd go after you if I said anything and I had to protect Jay. I didn't see I had any choice, Dempsey!"

"But _I_ had! I left you… deserted you and that was such a STUPID thing to do," he cried bitterly and the fire seemed to suddenly die.

Tentatively, Harry stood up, wanting some sort of comfort for both of them but unsure how to go about it.

The air crackled but now the acrimonious tension had gone.

"We both knew you had to go."

He was facing away from her when Harry laid her hand mid-way along his back and he turned with a start at her touch.

"And anyway, would it really have been what you wanted," she asked, "a family life?"

She hadn't been able to get Jay's words off her mind – the marriage and kids thing. Had he actually meant it?

"Harry." He took a step closer, taking hold of her upper arms very gently and leaning down to press his forehead against hers. "It was _everything_ I wanted."

Harry closed her eyes to revel in his proximity, letting the words permeate through the soft shell that had formed out of necessity since Dempsey had come back into her life. Her hands lifted automatically to hang over his shoulders.

"So why didn't I know that?" she asked quietly.

"Because I thought it was the last thing you would of wanted."

Harry smiled, eyes still shut. "That's the funny thing. Until I got pregnant, I'd thought the same."

"And how'd that happen, by the way? Thought we'd covered our bases on that one," he teased softly.

"Hmm," she smirked, "nothing's a hundred per cent infallible."

Dempsey's response actually made her blush.

"Yeah. I guess when you go at it like we did, you're really gonna be lowering that percentage."

Feeling her squirm, he pulled back to study her face.

"What?" he grinned at her.

"Don't," she warned.

"Can't help myself, angel."

Harry felt a rush go through her and Dempsey felt the resulting heat burning her skin.

"It could've been so different, James," she said quietly. "_Should've_ been so different."

"Like that ain't gonna haunt me for the rest of my life. I haven't been able to stop thinkin' 'bout what you went through… wonderin' what they did to you… how you coped on your own afterwards… with the baby."

His arms had slipped around her and Harry nestled naturally against him.

She could feel his heart beating.

"So imagine how I felt after you told me about your breakdown, knowing I could've prevented it. It made it so much harder to tell you about Jay. It's been unbearable. I've felt so guilty for so many years."

Dempsey held the back of her head, gently rubbing his cheek against her hair that smelt of sunshine and shampoo.

"Now it's my turn, Princess, 'cause I should never have left you and I'm gonna regret that until the day that I die."

"Well you're not thinking of leaving me again, are you?"

It was half a joke, half a plea.

Dempsey pushed her away a little, just enough to be able to take her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears.

She focused on his eyes. His smile made them crinkle at the corners and added another dimension to their soft, brown depths. He'd aged well but like her, there could be no denying the passage of time. She was sorry she'd had to miss out on that aging process because now it only served to highlight the years they hadn't shared together.

But those eyes still looked at her in the same way they always used to – a loving passion radiating from them and it sent an incredible thrill of anticipation racing through her veins.

"I ain't going nowhere."

Harry nodded, placing her hands over his. "That's good," she said with a shaky laugh, "because if you even so much as think about it, I'll be restraining you by your bollocks, Lieutenant Dempsey."

They both laughed with exalted release, Dempsey kissing her forehead before placing feathery-light kisses upon her nose, her cheeks and eventually, her still smiling mouth.

It seemed to take them both by surprise and their lips met chastely at first with a subtle diffidence that quickened the senses. But after a moment, something seemed to give and their mouths melded quickly in a rush of heated proclivity.

Dempsey's hands left Harry's face to stray over her body, moving unrestrained along the curve of her back and eagerly moulding to her buttocks before finally finding a resting place upon her waist which allowed him to hold her firm against him.

There was a febrile intensity burning within their kiss that came from all the missing years between them; from all the nights like this that had never been, all the wanting, all the needing, all the longing for each other that had been stored away for an enternity.

They eventually broke apart, gasping hungrily for air.

"I think we should slow down a bit," panted Harry.

"Yeah? Why?" Dempsey growled as his mouth lowered to hers again.

"Because it's got to be right. Everything has to be right between us first."

He stilled and then nodded his agreement. He knew exactly what she meant; there was still so much to be said, so many questions to be answered and they'd waited so long already, why not spend some time filling in the blanks.

"I've brought something to show you," she smiled, pulling away gently.


	92. Chapter 92

Chapter 92

Harry lifted up the khaki coloured holdall Dempsey had put beside the floor-standing peace lily in its earthenware pot.

She joined him on the sofa and he watched as she pulled out a square pink binder.

"Okay, what've we got here?" he asked, taking it from her hands when it was proffered to him.

"I just thought you might like to see it… Jay's baby photos from when she was born."

He'd already opened up the cover and found a small manila envelope stuck to the first page. He opened it, taking out the two paper scan photographs it contained.

Dempsey held up the one with '12 weeks' handwritten in the white space at the bottom.

"This is the one MacKintyre saw?" he asked quietly.

Harry just nodded.

He stared at it for a while before turning his attention to the other one marked '20 weeks'.

"Looks like a real baby," he joked, "almost".

"As oppose to the other one where she closely resembles a manatee."

"Definite sea life."

They shared a smile.

"I missed out on all this, Harry."

"I know. I'm sorry."

The sadness in her voice prompted him to reach out and squeeze her hand.

"Hey, c'mmon, we're both sorry. We've already established that. Can't keep sayin' it."

He withdrew his hand and returned the two scans to the envelope before turning the page.

The first photograph was of Harry lying in a hospital bed cradling a newborn Jay in her arms.

Dempsey gave a low chuckle. "You look all in there. She give you a hard time?"

"She was two weeks late, she wasn't too keen on seeing the big wide world."

His finger traced over Harry's image. "Look at you. This was taken just six months after I last saw you. Boy, who'd o' thunk it?"

The next photo was a close up of the baby, still red and wrinkled from her recent emergence.

"She was only half an hour old there."

"She's beautiful."

"She looks like E.T, James," Harry pointed out.

Dempsey held the photograph album away in an attempt to focus better.

"Wait a minute, let me find my reading glasses."

Carting the album with him across the room, he retrieved a pair of spectacles from the stone mantelpiece above the fireplace and returned to the sofa with them perched on his nose.

"Mmm, okay," he shrugged, "so our daughter looked like E.T. E.T was pretty cute though."

There were a couple more photographs taken at the hospital and then the setting changed.

A heavily pregnant Angela Carstairs had Jay, wearing a yellow romper suit, in her arms on top of her bump. She sat in a white rocker beside a cot and behind them, giant teddy bears cavorted along the wall.

"Where were these taken?" Dempsey asked, studying the page of photos with a curious frown. "Is this Camberwell Grove?"

"I turned the back bedroom into a nursery."

"And this is Camberwell Grove, too?" he asked, pointing at the picture of Harry sitting with Jay on a sofa surrounded by a group of her friends.

"I had the place redecorated. I moved the furniture around a bit too."

Something in her tone distracted him and he regarded her expectantly.

"It was either that or move house I'm afraid. I couldn't have stopped there otherwise."

Dempsey didn't say anything but sat back with a heavy sigh, balancing the album on his thigh as he put his ankle across his knee. He reached his arm across for Harry to lean up against him and she accepted his silent invitation.

"Jack looked a lot like her as a baby – same eyes."

"Your eyes," said Harry.

Dempsey grinned. "Yeah. And my hair too."

Harry pointed to a shot of Jay lying in her cot.

"Same nose."

"Yep, no doubt about it, the kid was lucky enough to inherit the Dempsey good looks."

"After the manatee and E.T phases, obviously. And she was unfortunate enough to inherit the attitude."

"Attitude? Moi?"

"Hmm," confirmed Harry. "She was a little madam, even at this age."

"No input from mom there?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

Laughing quietly, he turned the page.

"Hey, Freddy!" he said delightedly.

"Oh yes, Grandpa Freddy. He used to dote on her."

There followed a succession of photos depicting Harry's father with his granddaughter.

"He used to spend hours walking her around the grounds."

A photograph of Freddy standing with the infant held against his chest, the buggy at his side and the lake of Winfield Hall as the backdrop.

The sun was shining and so was Freddy.

"Did you spend a lot of time there after you'd had Jay?"

"I used to go down for a few days regularly every month. If I wanted an evening out with friends, Freddy and Mrs Beresford… do you remember Mrs Beresford, the housekeeper? ... they'd take care of Jay between them."

"Yeah, I remember Mrs Beresford. She used to give me the heebie-jeebies – like somethin' out of a Hitchcock movie."

"She was rather formidable, I suppose," Harry conceded.

"Formidable? I know guys would of paid good money just to have her look down her nose at 'em."

"You always did have an eclectic mix of friends, Dempsey."

Harry raised her face to see his silly grin.

"I guess so – I had you, didn't I?"

Their eyes locked and the grin relaxed into a warm smile.

"You still have," said Harry.

His eyes dropped to her mouth. "That's nice to hear."

He could feel her breath soft on his jaw, the length of her thigh pressed to his and the swell of her breast against his chest.

Quickly, he turned back to the album. A new page had a group of photographs showing Harry and Alice Jarvis seated together, each with a baby in their arms in what he assumed was the Jarvis' kitchen. There was a collection of bottles and glasses on the table in front of them and people milling around in the background.

Harry tapped the page abstractly.

"This was a couple of weeks after Rosie was born. Chas was so proud of her. I don't think he put the camera down all night."

"It's weird," Dempsey mused. "This is exactly the way I remember you … but with our baby… seems surreal."

"Well it gets even more surreal."

She flipped the page and there, filling the page was a ten by eight of three babies side by side in bouncy chairs.

"Jay, Rosie and Leo," she pointed them out in turn.

"Wow! Look at that," he marvelled.

"It was nice, all three being around the same age."

"Angela was pregnant too. Were they puttin' somethin' in the water in 1987?"

"It did all seem to happen at once. Jay was late and both Rosie and Leo were early – in fact, Leo was a month early plus Angela got her dates mixed up, you know what she's like so it seemed as though babies were popping out all over."

Dempsey hugged her to him. "That's good. I'm glad you had some support. So they kinda grew up together?"

Harry smiled as she reminisced. "We were all quite close for a while."

"For a while?"

"Well, things change, don't they? Mike and Angela moved away with Mike's work, Alice's mother got seriously ill and she moved in with them until she died and I got…" she hesitated, "well, I married Philip."

Dempsey felt her tense beside him.

"Yeah, the whirlwind romance," he said lightly.

_Did that sound sarcastic? Maybe he'd meant it to, just a little._

"It wasn't… not really."

She flicked another page.

Harry holding Jay at what appeared to be some sort of garden party, resplendent in peach silk, Jay in a sailor dress and bonnet.

"She was sick all down my shoulder ten minutes after that was taken," Harry breezed.

But Dempsey wasn't to be distracted.

"How'd you meet?"

"I was looking for a christening gift for Leo in Knightsbridge," she began uneasily. "I was in the shop and he was helping me choose something."

Harry glanced up warily, unsure whether or not to tell him more and he picked up on her reticence immediately. "So what, he ask you out?"

"I had Jay with me at the time and he assumed I was buying for her. We were chatting and he said something about having this silver money box I'd chosen engraved with Jay's name and 'with love from Mummy and Daddy'. It was something like that anyway. I started crying. I couldn't seem to stop," she added softly.

"Harry," Dempsey murmured, taking her hand in his and stroking over the knuckles.

"It was so embarrassing when I think back now but at the time, I didn't care. I stood there and bawled my eyes out and Philip sort of dragged me and pushed Jay into the office. He was so calm about the whole thing, telling the assistant that he'd be unavailable for half an hour. He made me a cup of tea and calmed me down enough to talk and I told him about… our situation and he was so wonderfully understanding. I finished up regaling him with my entire life story I think which just isn't me at all but that's the thing with Philip, he's a very good listener."

Dempsey was struck with a bolt of jealousy as he had known he would be. It was a form of masochism, this need to know. He'd considered that not knowing would be worse – but it wasn't.

He forced a jovial grin. "And that ain't romance?"

"I suppose it was. I certainly got swept along with it although at that time it was the last thing on my mind."

"You had your hands full with Little Miss Frilly Knickers here."

He tapped a picture of Jay lying on a blanket and kicking her legs in the air to display the frilly white lace knickers she wore beneath her dress.

"I don't know what I would've done without Jay." Her shoulders rose and fell in mirthless laughter. "Curled up into a ball and died probably."

Dempsey's left hand came up to caress the back of her head, his strong fingers plying up through the hair at her neck.

"Don't go sayin' things like that."

"It's true! Before Jay was born, everything seemed so… hopeless. I'd lost all sense of purpose. I had no job and you'd gone. I came to realise exactly what you'd meant to me and I couldn't cope with you not being there any longer. It felt as though my right arm had been cut off, James. You were my partner; my lover, my friend and when you suddenly weren't there, I couldn't bare it."

Dempsey leaned in and kissed the crown of her head, repeating the action a few more times before resting his cheek there, breathing deeply with his mind rolling and crashing in a tempestuous sea of disquiet. This was something she had only eluded to before, the way his leaving had affected her and it was another thing that he had mixed feelings over hearing about. They had hurt each other so deeply simply by being apart, a far greater hurt than the silly wrangles over doing their job as a couple or his inability to understand that despite their culture and class differences, Harry could still be in love with him.

"Sweetheart…"

He was choking, sick with the knowledge she was imparting. "I didn't know. I'd thought it was over because it was just too complicated for us to carry on like we had been doin'."

Harry's arm was around his chest now, holding tight to him. "It was Terry MacKintyre. It was all down to bloody Terry MacKintyre in the end."

Raising her head, she met Dempsey's fathomless brown eyes. "I loved you."

He stroked her cheek tenderly. "I loved you too."

And the intonation in both their voices served to highlight the smoke screen of the past tense.

Harry fumbled for his fingers, twining them with her own against her cheek and the photo album on Dempsey's knee slid to the floor with a thump.

Smiling, he took his hand away from her face, their fingers still joined and bent down to retrieve it. The album had fallen open at the back where it seemed a handful of photographs had been shoved in loose at some point. They lay fanned out at his feet – more pictures of Jay but now four or five months old. Dempsey gathered them up, dropping the album on the sofa beside him. His eye had been drawn by the photo that was now uppermost in his hand.

He studied it silently.

"I hadn't realised that was there," Harry started to apologise.

Dempsey shook his head. "It's fine. It happened. Maybe I should be grateful."

Jay was sitting up in Philip's arms, an eternal smile at her mouth and her tiny hand making a fist around one of the buttons at the collar of his fawn jumper. Philip was smiling lovingly into the eyes of the child who was to become his daughter.

Harry was angry with herself. She had been so certain there was no evidence of Philip in that baby album – nothing past three months, that was what she had thought but her cursory, inebriated check through had failed to spot what Dempsey had just found.

"You don't need to be grateful. You didn't ask him to take us on and if you'd known, it probably wouldn't have happened anyway."

"He still got you through the mess I'd left you in and I have to at least respect him for that."

"James!" she cried, exasperated. "Stop doing this. You're not to blame."

He put the photographs to one side and hunched forward, wringing his hands between his knees.

"So why does it feel like I am?"

"Well you're certainly not alone," she grated, "so there's no point playing the martyr."

"You think that's what I'm doin'?" he asked, slightly stunned by her harshness.

"You're wallowing in self-pity; guilt, blame, doubt and all the other obnoxious, self-absorbing and soul destroying sentiments that are exactly the same ones I'm feeling too," Harry threw out aggressively.

"I love Philip," she said, seeming to take a perverse delight in the change in Dempsey's expression. "I loved him as my husband for seventeen years but I've never, ever been _in_ love with him. And do you know the really terrible thing, Dempsey? He's always known that. He's always known I couldn't be in love with him while I was still in love with you."

She was on her feet, dragging up the holdall from the floor and unzipping it again roughly.

"This is yours," she said, yanking out and wadding up what appeared to be an item of clothing.

She tossed it across to him. "Philip found it…" she pretended to think, "must be eight years ago now… at the back of the cupboard where I'd hidden it. Can you imagine how that made him feel, and how he felt when I put it back in the cupboard?"

Slowly, Dempsey unfolded the garment he had caught in his hands.

"My old P.D gym sweatshirt!" he said in amazement. "You kept hold of it all these years?"

"I practically lived in the thing while I was pregnant. It kept you with us. Pathetic, isn't it? And I couldn't get rid of it, not even to please Philip. How selfish does that make me?"

Dempsey didn't know what to say to her. Her sudden flare of anger had taken him unawares and this mass of emotion, buried too deep for too long was a revelation.

"Do you remember this?" she asked.

She had something secreted in her right hand, taken from an inside zip pocket of the bag. He automatically opened his hand to receive it.

"Philip's given me thousands of pounds worth of jewellery."

Dempsey looked down at the thin, silver snake chain bracelet and the little silver puff heart threaded onto it.

"He'd have been gutted if he'd known that was the only piece I've ever really wanted to wear."

She stood over him, hands on her hips. "You do remember it, don't you Dempsey?" she snapped.

"Yeah, sure I do," he replied in wonderment as he held the heart in between his thumb and forefinger.

"Good. Another thing I hid from my husband. But it was always there between us whether he knew it or not… just one more thing to stop the door closing completely. If you think you were wrong in walking away, think how I feel, keeping Jay from you, lying to her about who her real father was, stringing Philip along like a bloody dog in our sham of a marriage. That's what guilt is Dempsey, the sort of guilt that eats you up day after day, year after year. You went to The States. The end. So what? What lies did you tell? How much did you have to cover up? Next to me, you're Mister Clean," she sneered, pointing a finger straight in his face.

Dempsey stood up, reaching for the hand. "Hey, hey, calm down, Harry. This is…"

But Harry snatched her hand away. "You don't understand," she interrupted him.

She stood still for a moment, the back of her hand trembling a little as she pressed it against her mouth, her face glowing with perspiration.

"I'm going to get a cold drink." She moved away to the door but stopped to glance over her shoulder. "Do you want something?"

"Yeah, I want you to tell me what's goin' on with you. Why are you angry with me again?"

She shook her head. "I'm not. I'm just tired. I'm too hot."

Dempsey let her go, recognising the fact that she needed some space.

Slowly, he sank back down onto the sofa, gazing at the sweatshirt now half burying the photo album and running the silver bracelet through his fingers. He found it incredible that she'd kept these things. But there was more to it than that, somehow she'd managed to let them affect her life, keeping the past by her side even when it was jeopardising her marriage. She'd said she'd still been in love with him when she married Phil Cavanagh. Cavanagh had known it, hoping to ride it out, win her around but it sounded like it had never happened. They'd stayed married but Harry had never learned to love him in the way a husband deserved to be loved. Cavanagh had hung on in there – and who could blame him?

These last few weeks had brought it all back to her, what she'd lost and never regained.

He knew all about that.

When Harry still hadn't returned after nearly fifteen minutes, he decided they'd both had enough time alone.


	93. Chapter 93

**This chapter went on for so long I had to split it into two so you'll be getting Ch.94 sometime tomorrow. Got a feeling this is full of mistakes as it's 1:30am and I'm nodding off but here goes. **

**btw - Don't forget to review but if you're still up and about in the U.K, do it tomorrow when you're bright eyed and bushy-tailed LOL**

Chapter 93

There had been a half dozen or so empty Budweiser bottles lined up along the counter top by the sink – had been – they were gone now. Harry must have taken them out to the trash, sorting them into the recycling box.

The coffee machine was showing signs of life and two cups had been placed beneath the taps.

There was no sign of Harry though.

Noticing the back door was ajar, he opened it a little wider and saw Harry at the bottom of the shallow steps leaning against the stone alcove.

She had her face lifted to the night sky, basking in the incandescent light of the waxing moon and Dempsey found himself almost spellbound by the image.

After a few moments, he saw her lift the highball glass she had been holding down by her side and drain the contents before letting her head fall back with a tiny sigh. The light spilling from the glowing moon was just enough to dimly illuminate the space between them and he could see her eyes were closed, her lips slightly apart and he had never seen her look more desirable.

When Harry opened her eyes again she seemed to sense his presence and turned her head.

"I think I've calmed down now," she smiled. "Sorry."

Dempsey walked down the steps to join her, hands raised defensively.

"You ain't mad at me?"

"Of course not. I never have been, just mad at… I don't know, the way things ended up."

"Nothin's ended," he told her firmly.

She looked at Dempsey, maybe for the first time seeing that despite everything that had gone before, they could possibly have a future together.

"And just so's we're straight on this," he continued, "I do understand.. maybe too well."

He drew out his wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open before handing it over.

Harry looked at the photograph of Jack secured behind the clear pvc window. She'd seen it before and didn't see what he meant by showing it to her now.

"Look behind the photo. We've all got things to hide, Harry."

For some reason, the words scared her. She had no idea what to expect when her fingers made contact with a folded wad of card roughly an inch and a half square.

"I've had them with me since the day they were taken."

Harry unfolded the passport booth photos; four pictures of unbridled happiness that made her draw in a sudden breath. She couldn't contain her surprise and didn't want to.

"See in the notes compartment?" he told her.

"What?" she murmured, unable to tear her eyes away from the photographs.

He took the wallet from her. "I always rip open the lining. See the seam there? He pointed to the frayed lining that hung open. "Every wallet I've had since I got with Juliette, I've hidden them behind the lining."

"Have you?" she asked unnecessarily, her voice wavering.

"Couldn't let you go, Princess. Juliette was sweet and pretty and half my age… but she wasn't you. Kept tellin' myself I was a lucky guy – should be happy she wanted to be with me, only it didn't work out that way. What's the point of havin' a trophy girlfriend when you're in love with someone else, hah?"

Harry's eyes skipped to him doubtfully as she replaced the photos.

"I thought you'd got your head together by the time you left New York."

"Oh, I had," he chuckled. "And I was still in love with you. Even my shrink couldn't wipe that out."

The levity did nothing to convince her that he was speaking with much sincerity. She had seen a picture of Juliette on the desk in the office above the bar. She was still an attractive woman, the mother of his son and they had fifteen years of history… more than enough to fade Harry's memory.

"Impressed her with your suave charm, did you, Dempsey?" she asked flippantly. She couldn't quite bring herself to ask what he had been so candid about, namely, how the relationship had started.

"Natch," he grinned.

Gallantly, he offered her his arm.

"Care to take a turn around the grounds, Lady Harriet?"

Harry put the glass she still held on the bottom step and took his extended arm, knowing that in so doing, she was submitting herself to a torture by Juliette's innocence.

"So. Want me to tell you 'bout my sweet Juliette?"

"If you like," she answered stiffly.

They set off down the gravelled path, the carriage lamps and the moon lighting the way.

"She came into La Baraka one night with her boyfriend…"

"What was…" Harry started.

"La Baraka Casino. La Baraka… it's Arabic or somethin' for fate; chance, destiny… anyway, you get the idea."

"And this was where you were working at the time?" Harry clarified.

"Actually, no. I did three years there as head of security but this was around 1992 and I'd already left to set up Society Security. But I used to stop by, catch up with the guys, play a little Blackjack and I've never been able to resist that hypnotic spin of the Roulette wheel."

The night air was perfectly still save for the lullaby of the crickets and the storytelling lilt of Dempsey's voice. Harry held on to his arm, her right looped through his left and the fingers of her left hand absently stroking through the sparse black hair along his forearm.

"Anyways," he continued, "this particular night, Juliette comes in with this guy, not much older than her, maybe twenty-four, twenty-five. Usual story, flashin' the cash, drunk as a Lord… no offence…"

"None taken."

"… and soon as the winning streak comes to an end, he starts to be a real pain in the ass, accusin' one of the croupiers of bad dealin'. I could see Juliette was embarrassed so I tried to smooth it over before security stepped in. He wasn't buyin' it, got abusive and my pal, Colin shows up to escort him off the premises. We managed to get him into a taxi together but by this time, Juliette's had enough, makes it clear to the boyfriend that they're through and leaves him to it. She goes back inside to powder her nose and I buy her a drink to calm her nerves. I didn't try nothin' on – didn't seem fair. She was young and easily impressed, said how great I'd handled things. Told her I'd worked at La Baraka and now I'd started my own security business. Before she left, she asked me for my number because her dad might have some work to put my way. It struck me as kinda funny at the time that she was comin' on to me when her dad was probably the same age I was."

Dempsey shrugged. "Guess I was flattered too. There wasn't anyone I was seein' at the time so when she called next day I thought, what the hell."

"What the hell, indeed," Harry smiled faintly.

Her mind was in turmoil. In 1992, she was married for the second time and had two small children. Yes, she'd had friends, every material thing she could possibly want in her normal life but the excitement had gone. Not an inkling of danger, no edginess, no excitement, nothing to make her pulse race and her heart beat faster – in 1992 that had been acquired by a young lady by the name of Juliette Middleton.

"I wasn't lookin' for nothin' serious, it was just a little fun. I mean, I didn't expect it to last more than a few dates but Juliette seemed to like the idea of me bein' a permanent fixture and everyone kept tellin' me what a lucky guy I was so…"

"I can imagine," Harry trotted out dutifully. "Every mans' dream – a lovely young girl on his arm to massage his ego."

"Yeah, well, it was okay. Took a while for mom and dad to fall for the Dempsey charm… nice, middle class family, think they thought I was gonna pimp her out or somethin'."

At least that made Harry laugh. "Obviously your entrepreneurial skills made them nervous."

"They weren't the only ones who were nervous."

"Oh yes?"

"We were together for a year and there was no denyin' we had a wild time. We travelled… Hawaii, Mexico, Switzerland, India but it had to stop at some point and when it did, it felt like there just wasn't enough there to keep it goin'. I ended it."

They had got half way around the perimeter of the garden, walking slowly beneath the row of maple trees that bordered the back of the property.

"You went to India?" Harry queried, making big, comically wondrous eyes.

"Yeah," Dempsey said brightly and then as the question sank in he repeated more soberly, "Yeah. Yeah, we visited India but… " he unlinked their arms, instead taking her right hand in both of his as he pulled them to a halt. "We never slept under the stars, Harry." He smiled. "In fact, it was a lousy trip – air conditioning in the hotel was on the fritz and I was out of commission for three days with dysentery."

"Dysentery, James?" she mocked. "Really?"

"Okay, maybe not but I swear I ain't never had the shits so bad."

They laughed, looking down at their joined hands.

"Poor you," Harry smirked, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"Your sincerity is touching, Makepeace."

It amused her to hear him call her that. She looked into his eyes for a long moment. "So then what?" she asked softly. "Obviously something happened that brought you back together."

"Nothing momentous. She called me up one day eighteen months later, just out of the blue. We met for a drink and it started up again. She'd gotten older and wiser… grown up I guess. Another year down the line and we were still okay so when she says she wants to have a baby, I decided it was probably now or never. I definitely wasn't gettin' any younger and I'd always liked the idea of havin' someone callin' me 'daddy'."

Dempsey brushed a thumb against the corner of his mouth. "Course, I didn't know there already was someone who could of done that."

Harry nodded, latching her fingers around his when he returned his hand.

"Think we'd of had a son as well?" he asked musingly. "But then, he wouldn't of been Ed… though if you'd never had him, how could you miss him?"

Dempsey stopped and smiled apologetically.

"Guess that's one o' those cosmos questions that you shouldn't be askin' yourself or anyone else at two a.m."

Harry tilted her head a little. "I used to wonder the same thing."

"Then that makes us both crazy."

"I think that's a given," she smiled and then prompted, "So you had Jack."

"Yeah, yeah. Juliette got pregnant with him real quick. If I'd had time to think about it a little more, I maybe woulda realised havin' a baby wasn't the smartest move. It was papering over the cracks… we never should have been together."

Harry had to look away, tears brimming in her eyes. Hadn't Edward been born for the same reasons – to give his parents a reason for being together. The whole thing just seemed so sick now.

"Then came the pressure to get married, not just from Juliette – her parents too. But the more they pushed, the harder I dug my heels in. I already felt trapped and I knew gettin' married woulda had me stir-crazy. Nothin' felt right… 'cept after we had Jack, for a time it was good, we had a common ground."

"So what changed?"

"She did. Turned into super-bitch"

That surprised Harry. For some reason, she'd always imagined Juliette to be blameless, the injured party.

"She realised that I loved Jack more than her. It was true – without Jack, I'd've been long gone. She was jealous – wanted to make me jealous too so she had an affair."

"Oh my God!" The surprise mingled with shock.

"I guess I was angry. Made all the right noises but deep down, I didn't really care what she did, long as it wasn't hurtin' Jack. He was only three years old so didn't have a clue what was goin' on."

"She was jealous enough of her own child to retaliate like that?"

"S'ppose it was the fact that I loved him at all when…" Dempsey trailed off, forcing Harry to fill the silence.

"When…?"

He began walking again, gently tugging her along after him and just when she thought he wasn't going to answer, he said, "When I couldn't love her."

"I see," was all Harry managed to say. Her brain actually felt like it was throbbing inside her head.

"In a way, I drove her to it."

"You can't force somebody into having an affair," she reasoned.

"She was lashing out, she wanted to get a reaction and she thought that was the way to do it," Dempsey smiled ruefully. "Lashed out a few times."

Harry really hadn't expected that. "She had more than one affair?"

"Oh yeah. Used to flirt with other guys around me all the time and sometimes, if she got a rise outta me, she'd maybe keep one around for a while."

"James, I'm so sorry."

"Don't get me wrong, I wasn't whiter than white. I started seein' someone too and she threw me out. That was the second time we split. I begged her to take me back. I needed Jack in my life but I told Juliette it was because I wanted her.

"But you didn't have to go back did you? You could've got access to see Jack."

"Nah. She'd made it clear she'd make it difficult if it came to that… I'd had an affair too, remember. She was bitter, felt insulted. She couldn't get to grips with the fact that I'd… sought solace elsewhere. Why would I go eat burger when I'd got steak at home? She was young and beautiful and I should feel damned lucky to have her… but I just…" Dempsey sighed, "I couldn't make myself love her."

Both of them bound into loveless relationships and too hopeless to consider resurrecting the past. It made Harry's throat dry just admitting in her mind that had Dempsey returned to London ten, even twenty years ago, she would have left Philip for him. In the blink of an eye, she would have taken the children and gone anywhere he asked.

She hadn't realised until now just how bad things had been with Juliette. He'd described it before quite dismissively as one of those on-off relationships and so that had been the way she had thought of it. But it sounded as though he had endured a great deal of anguish during their time together, tied to her by his love for his son.

Harry held his hand tightly as they walked on, certain now that Juliette had, by the end, been anything but sweet.


	94. Chapter 94

**So this is the second chapter of the weekend. Don't forget to review ch.93 as well - the feedback makes it all worthwhile :-D**

Chapter 94

"I tried, Harry, I really did, for Jack's sake if nothin' else but she knew I wasn't in love with her. We split up so many times it must've seemed normal to the kid."

"Did she turn him against you?" Harry wanted to know.

Dempsey laughed. "Not a chance. Me and Jacky, we're buddies, always been close. You're gonna like him a lot, he's a great kid."

His bright enthusiasm was touching. The fifteen year old was coming to visit his father in August and Dempsey was looking forward to introducing them.

"Do you think you'll tell him about Jay?"

"Are you kiddin' me? Like I ain't gonna tell him he's got a big sis livin' right here in London. I thought we could maybe spend some time together… all of us, you know?" And then he asked doubtfully, "D'you think Ed would be up for that?"

Harry laughed. She found his concern over Ed's inclusion rather sweet.

"I'm, quite sure he would – just as long as he can bring Lydia along. They're at that 'joined at the hip' stage at the moment." Harry rolled her eyes.

"Hey, have a heart," Dempsey chided. "I had this girlfriend once, absolutely gorgeous blonde, body to die for. We were inseparable for a while, together literally twenty-four seven and I thought I wouldn't be able to live without her."

"Really," Harry replied somewhat coolly. "She must've been quite special."

Dempsey turned sharply in front of Harry and she walked straight into him, feeling his arms fasten about her as she did so.

"She is."

Harry drew her head away for a moment, beaming broadly.

"Just that if Ed's found himself in that kind of situation, I think he might benefit from the advice of somebody who's been there, done that and screwed up big-time."

"And what advice would that be then, Dempsey?"

"Don't screw up."

She draped her arms about his shoulders. "You didn't," she said softly, "you really didn't."

Almost imperceptibly, his face had lowered to her cheek.

"You accused me earlier of not understanding," he said close to her ear. "But I know what it's like to be with someone you don't love. No matter what you do, no matter what they do, you just know it ain't never gonna happen."

He was frowning now, concentrating on his fingers as they slid along her jaw.

"Trouble is, twenty three years is one helluva long time to love someone you've had zero contact with. In fact, it's quite an incredible feat… unbelievable even, which is why I had to find out if it was for real or not."

She forgot to breathe as she listened to that rich, melodic voice saying those words that must surely have spilled from her own imagination. Her fingers curled involuntarily, digging painfully into his shoulders.

"And was it real?" she croaked.

"Oh yeah… real and beautiful and everything I'd remembered."

Harry gazed up into his eyes.

"It almost killed me when you came back," she told him. "It all came flooding back…but there was Jay and I couldn't face telling you… I thought you'd hate me."

Dempsey just shook his head.

She leaned in to him, pressing her forehead against his, her eyes closed. "I love you."

Nothing. No reply, just a strange stillness that meshed invisibly with the night.

And then he asked quietly, "D'you mean that?"

She nodded, her forehead nudging his lightly. "It never stopped. I tried to make it go away but I couldn't. I wanted to love Philip instead of you."

She pressed herself against his body, wanting to be as close to him as she possibly could and afraid now that he was going to back away in every sense. He was barely touching her of his own volition any more, it was all Harry, clinging needily, feeling weak and pathetic in the aftermath of her admission.

"I can't love anyone but you, James."

When he moved his head away to the side, Harry started to crumble. Had she misunderstood? Hadn't he said in so many words that he loved her too?

"I love you," she tried again.

She put her hands either side of his face, relishing the feel of the stubble at his cheeks where it disappeared into his hairline.

Had he meant the word 'love' in a different context - as you would love a friend or a sister?

No, not now, she couldn't bear for it all to fall apart now.

A small sob broke from her lips followed by another and another, the desperation building.

"Say something," she begged, pulling his head back to her, forcing him to look at her.

And then she realised he was crying.

"James?"

Rivulets of tears ran in tracks down his cheeks, glistening in the moonlight.

"You gotta mean it, Harry," he said staunchly. "Don't say it 'cause you think it's what I wanna hear."

Once again she found she was having difficulty breathing but this time it was for the sheer joy that inflated her lungs to bursting point.

"Of course I mean it. I've always loved you."

Deliberately, Harry placed her lips upon his right cheek where she could taste the salty pathway of moisture as it dribbled over her lower lip.

"I've always been 'in' love with you," she corrected herself, "and I want to convince you of that."

She was confident now, able to take charge of a situation she finally understood.

Slowly, she slid her mouth across to meet his. The raw vulnerability of this beautiful man was having an incredible effect on her senses. She wanted to have him in her arms, to comfort him like a child and yet the feel and smell of him was making her giddy with an overpowering lust.

She kissed him steadily, testing both of their boundaries. The relief she felt, knowing that there were no longer any secrets between them was uninhibiting and she found her normal restraint had been vanquished. She began to push for more as her mind told her she could now have whatever her body craved.

"Harry…" Dempsey mumbled against her parted lips.

His hands came up, one palm held flat against the middle of her back and the other clutching the back of her head. His mouth opened wider to give their tongues a playground and Harry felt a landslide taking place deep inside her.

"You got no idea," he groaned thickly.

"Tell me then," she urged, needing to hear just how much he wanted her.

"I came back for this. You're the only reason I came back to London." He buried his face into her neck, kissing, licking, sucking at the skin. "Pinned my entire future on the tiny hope that you'd be willing and able to have me back."

"You're insane," she laughed, light-headedly. "I could've been a completely different person to the one you were hoping for."

"I knew who you'd be."

Dempsey returned his lips to hers and neither of them could speak as the passion took over. He ran his fingers lightly up her bare arms and felt her shiver in the cool night air.

"You cold?" he asked.

His hands rode up over the front of the fitted blue dress she wore, caressing her breasts that swelled just above the neckline.

His lips lowered to join his hands, kissing along the line of exposed flesh and making her gasp.

"I'm alright."

"You've got gooseflesh," he smiled against the sensitised skin.

They were nearly back at the house, standing where the pathway that would have lead them around and through to the small enclave where the fountain played, bisected the main gravelled path.

"D'you wanna go back inside? We could have that coffee you made."

"Yes, I want to go back inside," and then with a small leer, Harry added, "but let's skip the coffee, shall we?"

**Guess what happens next ;-)**

**I haven't actually started writing Ch.95 yet but don't worry because x_WhiteKnightx_ is sure to hound me into the ground until it's posted... she's such a treasure... lol**


	95. Chapter 95

Slyquinn – how did we miss this one? Too busy setting fire to the rain, probably.

Actually, one or two people have suggested songs for the next few chapters and I've really been spoilt for choice so thanks to everybody who's put that much thought into what they've been reading – makes me go all gooey inside lol.

Chapter 95

**Whenever I'm alone with you  
You make me feel like I am home again  
Whenever I'm alone with you  
You make me feel like I am whole again  
Whenever I'm alone with you  
You make me feel like I am young again  
Whenever I'm alone with you  
You make me feel like I am fun again**

**However far away I will always love you**  
**However long I stay I will always love you**  
**Whatever words I say I will always love you**  
**I will always love you**

**Whenever I'm alone with you  
You make me feel like I am free again  
Whenever I'm alone with you  
You make me feel like I am clean again**

**However far away I will always love you**  
**However long I stay I will always love you**  
**Whatever words I say I will always love you**  
**I will always love you**

**Love Song by The Cure - **(But for this chapter, I think the Adele version is more fitting) Sorry Fleura45, I know what you mean because I absolutely hate it too when an artist is given credit for the original artist's work.

Harry stooped to collect up the glass she'd left on the back door step and realised she was thirsty again.

She smiled to herself – all that unbridled passion had dried her throat up.

As she entered the kitchen, arm air enveloped her and she immediately felt safe and content.

Going to his ridiculously oversized American larder refrigerator, Harry drew off another glass of ice water and added a liberal amount of ice cubes from the ice-maker unit beneath.

Dempsey watched as she then drew the blind at the window above the sink, crossing over to the adjacent window to do the same, sipping from her glass as she went.

Harry felt his eyes following her and stopped.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"Not at all."

"You're staring."

"Yeah, I know. I like it when you do that stuff."

"What stuff?"

Instead of answering the question, he asked her another.

"You like this place, don'tcha, Harry?"

He was leaning against the back door, his arms folded high across his chest.

Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously as she smirked at him from the other side of the room, waiting for the smart punch-line that was sure to follow whatever answer she gave.

"The house? You know I do."

"Yeah?"

"It's gorgeous," she assured him, "I love everything about it."

He looked to the floor, hitching his hands right up under his arms and chuckling quietly.

"That's good."

"Alright Dempsey, what's going on?"

She approached slowly, her hips swinging seductively as she attempted to throw him off whatever his objective was.

"Nothin'!" he defended.

"Don't give me that." She poked him in the sternum with her extended forefinger. "You're up to something."

Dempsey took the glass out of her hand, swirled the ice around and drank half of what was left before giving it back.

"You know why you like the house?"

"Why don't you tell me," she said, refusing to be caught out.

He didn't reply straight away, just looked at her with an almost bashful sort of grin.

"'cause you were s'pposed to."

Harry gave him a sidelong look. "Supposed to? What does that mean exactly?"

"I bought the place 'cause I thought you'd like it."

"I don't know what you're talking about." She was confused.

He stood up straight and reached for her, putting his hands on her hips. "I moved back to the mainland last year because of you. When I was lookin' for someplace to live, I drove past here one day and saw the For Sale board outside and knew I had to take a look."

Harry allowed him to drag her against him. "Because you thought I'd like it?" she asked in amazement.

"I had a viewing and made an offer there and then. It just felt right… could imagine you wanting to live here too so it had to be a good omen. It was kind of a game… a fantasy, I guess. I didn't know whether you'd ever even set foot inside the place."

"You bought a house on the off-chance that…" She raised a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. "You're absolutely stark, staring bonkers, Dempsey!"

"Course, if you wanna over-analyse it…" he joked, warily.

Harry was still laughing. "I can't believe anybody would do something so insane. Oh my God!"

"Yep. Well…" Dempsey shrugged, "my world, welcome to it."

Reaching up to put her arms about his neck, Harry asked, "But do you know what really bothers me?" She didn't' wait for him to reply – she couldn't be that cruel. "You got it so exactly right. Whenever I walk through the front door, it feels like…"

She stopped short of telling him what it felt like – it was too much of a shock to her.

"Go ahead," he said softly, "you can say it." His hands slipped around her narrow waist and he looked into the bright blue surprise of her eyes.

"Like I've come home…" she whispered.

What started out as a gentle kiss escalated within moments into something that was out of their control. Their mouths melded urgently, the weeks of needing this to happen, the years of wanting it, crashing through them hard.

They were at the back door, Dempsey standing with his back to it when he pulled Harry against him roughly. The glass Harry still held high at his neck jolted with the movement and tipped, sending the remaining ice water pouring down his right shoulder.

He gasped, laughing, and Harry shrieked as droplets splashed over her too and the ice cubes bounced against her chest. One had managed to slip down inside her cleavage and she fished around for it, giggling.

"Let me sort that out for ya," Dempsey grinned lasciviously, dipping his fingers down between her breasts.

Harry squirmed with pleasure as she felt his warmth caressing her wet skin.

"Have you found it?" she giggled again.

"Found somethin', that's for sure," and he slid a finger over a nipple that was straining taut and stiff through the lacy material of her bra.

She sucked in a breath, disappointed when he took his hand away to hold up the ice cube he had located.

"Nice underwear," he commented, gazing at the forget-me-not blue lace that was still visible over the neckline of her dress.

"Do you like it?" Harry asked sportively. "I bought it a few days ago." She tilted her head coquettishly. "I got changed into it before I came over tonight… was that bad of me, do you think?"

"Oh yeah, real bad," he growled. "Hope you got the matching set."

Harry tutted. "Of course," she said, managing to sound offended.

The ice cube was beginning to melt in Dempsey's fingers and water ran down his knuckles and over his wrist to drip onto Harry's chest. She looked down, smiling and as she did so, he pressed the cube to her lips.

Automatically, her lips parted to accept it, however, his fingers didn't give up the nugget and instead, he ran it along her lower lip, teasing her with it, inviting her tongue to lick away the wetness.

Harry lifted her head to watch his brown eyes intently. It felt as though she herself was melting, her whole body liquefying into a warm, wet pool of salacious desperation. She flicked her tongue out over the ice and he lowered it over the edge of her lip inside her mouth. Immediately, her tongue writhed against the cold ice and his warm fingers, the contrast in temperatures exciting the hell out of her.

"You like that?" he murmured.

Harry couldn't speak.

He lowered his head slowly and carefully positioned his mouth to cover hers, their tongues now swirling together relentlessly over the ice he still held firmly in his grasp.

And then he let it go and the ice cube suddenly seemed to move of its' own accord, floating smooth and glassy, hard and tantalising, to be chased around in the dark wetness of their mouths.

Water spilled unheeded, running from their lips, Dempsey's questing fingers still preventing their mouths from sealing together. But it felt so good, so incredible, their mouths copulating forcefully in such a mind-blowingly sexual way.

But a few seconds later, the ice had melted away and a building heat seemed to alter the feel of the game. There was no longer an object for them to fight for.

Dempsey's fingers dropped from her mouth and they fell into a deep, all-consuming kiss that stripped them of any rational thought that still remained.

Harry could feel his desire for her growing stronger and harder and she pushed her hips forward, moaning aloud when he yanked at handfuls of her dress and drew it up over her legs. His hands clamped around her buttocks before he began to trace along the edges of her stretchy lace knickers, feeling his way along where they cut away high across her cheeks.

There was a sharp crack followed by the shiver of breaking glass as the highball glass that had still been in Harry's right hand slipped from her grasp to hit the tiled floor.

They both started, glancing down at the pieces that lay at their feet.

"I'll clear it away tomorrow," Dempsey breathed, reaching down between them to draw a hand up over her inner thigh.

"It _is_ tomorrow." She grabbed his hand, guiding it to where she needed it to be the most.

Dempsey sucked in a breath. "Then the day after tomorrow… or the day after that… whenever it is we get finished here…"

Reaching for his waistband, Harry asked, "Are you familiar with the expression, 'tomorrow never comes', James?"

Letting loose the most dirty laugh Harry thought she had ever heard, he growled, "Tomorrow's gonna come sooner than you think, Tiger," and with that, bowed forward to heft her over his shoulder.

Harry shrieked elatedly as he picked her up in a fireman's lift and headed off upstairs.

And then they spent the whole of 'tomorrow' making up for every yesterday that they had let slip away.


	96. Chapter 96

**Disappointed?**

**Hands up those of you who were a bit disappointed with that last chapter.**

**You were expecting it to go a bit further maybe? A bit racier? Slightly saucier?**

**Trouble is, this is a 'T' rated story and if I changed it to an 'M', it would vanish from the main page.**

**So, I've written an extra chapter that you can read only if you want to – has no bearing on the main story and it's really just a piece of smutfic.**

**If you've read 'Ghost of a Chance' by BevHardy and if you haven't, you really should, you'll know that she did pretty much the same thing for her final chapter (but far more tastefully) and I suspect she did it for the same reason. However, this won't be the end of my story – a few more chapters left yet.**

**I feel I should warn you, the site would rate this additional chapter as 'M' for Mature. We older readers would also know it as 'X-Rated' or 'Certificate 18'. It's no holds barred steamy filth really so if you have any doubts and don't think it's quite your thing, please don't ask for it. If you'd like me to send it to you though, just go to my Profile page and send me an email, giving me your email address so I can sent the Wordfile as an attachment. No questions asked ;-)**

**If you'd rather not review, I obviously understand but all feedback would be much appreciated… I think.**

**The song I've used for this chapter is 'Waxwing' by a pretty much unknown artist by the name of Beck Goldsmith. It's really hauntingly beautiful and the words fit so well with Dempsey and Harry's 'reunion'. You can hear the song by going to: **

**www dot myspace dot com forward slash beckgoldsmith**

**PS. Chapter 96 will be available from 12:00pm - 23APR'11**


	97. Chapter 97

**Sorry I've taken so long to write this chapter - it isn't like the end result is even particularly thrilling. I'm still deliberating over whether of not to carry the story on for a few extra chapters before it draws to a close as I've had an idea in my head since about chapter 60. I dunno, what do you think? Should I let it reach its natural conclusion or should I write them an extra bit of plot? I just don't want to overdo it if you see what I mean.**

Chapter 97

They slept for a couple of hours or so but when the rising sun filtered through the curtains to light the room, Harry stirred, waking Dempsey as she curled against him.

They made love again, sleepy and relaxed, their fundamental happiness negating the fatigue and the effects of their alcohol consumption the night before.

They rose at a little after 10:30am but Dempsey insisted Harry remain in bed whilst he went downstairs to make breakfast. They ate an appetizing meal of warm croissants with honey, fresh cantaloupe melon and coffee as they basked in the warm July sunshine out on the balcony.

Harry wore her Tequila t-shirt and Dempsey, in trunks and yesterday's t-shirt, sat beside her, his hand absently caressing her leg whilst they talked and ate.

As he didn't seem to want to move his hand away and Harry was of the same persuasion, she took to feeding both of them, tearing off pieces of croissant, lightly buttering it and smearing it with honey, alternating between her own mouth and his. It made their intervening kisses all the sweeter.

Harry put her head back with a contented sigh, her eyes closed as she exposed her face to the sun.

"This is nice."

Dempsey's hand left her leg to glide down her forearm where it rested on the arm of her chair.

"Sure is."

His fingers took hold of the little puff heart on its fine silver chain and gently pulled it back and forth around her wrist a few times. He'd put it on her last night in the bedroom and the glint of bright metal against naked skin and everything it signified had electrified their lovemaking.

Dempsey slid his fingers through the backs of hers and lifted their entwined hands to kiss the base of her palm. Harry hummed a languid laugh and tightened the grip.

"Suppose I should go for a shower really."

He kissed her hand again. "'kay."

"We don't have to go anywhere today do we?"

"Not unless you want to."

She smiled, her eyes still shut. "A lazy day."

"Sounds perfect, honey."

The smile grew and finally she turned her head to give him a long, slow look. "So I could have a nice lazy bath instead – and you could join me."

He grinned. "So you wanna get down and dirty in the bath?"

Her eyes lowered to focus on his mouth. "That's a very… enticing way of putting it."

"It was a very enticing proposition."

"You make me sound like a wanton woman, James."

"Sound like? Come on now, this is me you're talkin' to remember? Ain't never gonna take the 'dirty' outa Harry."

She felt a surge of excitement fountain up and spray through her body, leaving her with an energised, tingling wilfulness.

She stood up and their hands drifted apart.

"I'll clear this lot away," she said, gathering up the crockery and piling it onto the tray, "while you run the bath."

Dempsey reached out to fondle her t-shirt covered bottom as he asked, "D'you need to let Ed know where you are?"

"I left him a note last night… 'Gone to Kingston. Please feed the cat.'"

"You think he'll be okay with this… with us?"

Harry screwed the lid back on the honey jar and licked the residual stickiness from her thumb.

"He's from a different generation, isn't he. He thinks we've been at it for weeks anyway."

Dempsey grinned. "Left to me, we woulda been."

He put his arms up around her waist and gently guided her down onto his lap to sit sideways on.

"You know what I mean. Is it gonna bother him, us bein' together?"

"He'll follow his sister's lead and if she's alright with it, he will be too." Harry rested her cheek against his, her arms about him.

"If? You get the impression she's not copin'?"

Harry laughed. "You probably know the answer to that better than me – you've spent longer with her since… well, since it all came out."

"C'mmon, you're her mom. She's okay, right?" he asked with concern.

"I think she's just struggling to come to terms with the fact that she'd been right all along; that Philip wasn't her real father and that some… " she rubbed teasingly at his chest, "… strange American was."

"Strange, huh?"

"Strange as in unknown… obviously," Harry smirked.

"So Jay doesn't think I'm _strange _strange?"

"No, I don't think she does, darling," she told him with a mockingly, exaggerated patience, patting his back as though placating a small child.

Dempsey pouted, pretending to be hurt. "'cause I know I can't rely on her mother to set her straight on that score."

Harry laughed. "Jay really doesn't have a problem with you, she likes you. It's me who's the villain of the piece."

"D'you think it would help if she talked with the both of us – I mean, together?"

Harry leaned back and asked with a hint of surprise, "Would you be willing to do that then?"

"Well… why wouldn't I?" Dempsey asked, equally surprised. "She's my kid. I just thought if she had us in the same room; heard both sides, got it straight in her head it might be easier for her to come to terms with… or d'you think I'm being over-optimistic?"

"Not at all," said Harry, happily.

"Think she'll resent the fact we're together?" And then he said dubiously, "'cause we are together now… right?"

Harry snuggled against him. "I'm hoping so. It feels like we are – finally."

His arms fastened about her waist. "And forever?"

"If that's what you want," she answered shyly.

"You know it is. It's what I've always wanted, Princess."

She held her face into his neck.

"I'm so sorry… if I'd just told you…"

"No, no, no," he tried to sooth her, "we said no more apologies, Harry. We both got it wrong, both of us."

"I know, it's just that…"

Suddenly, Harry flung her arms about his neck, squeezing herself to him as tightly as she could. How was it possible to feel so incredibly happy and so pitifully sad at one and the same time? She couldn't even begin to describe the multitude of emotions that had her in such a vice-like grip. But there was only one that really mattered, only one that she had absolutely no control over.

"I love you so much." Her voice hitched a note as she carried on, "and I don't ever want to lose you again." She clung to him as her words degenerated into nothing more than a frightened squeak. "I couldn't bear to be without you now, James."

"Hey, hey , hey, what 's this? That's not gonna happen, Tiger."

Dempsey rocked her gently in his arms, his lips caressing her hair as he spoke. "Where's this comin' from? Didn't I tell you enough times last night how much I love you too? I want this to be for keeps. I've worked too long and too hard to have it fall apart now, Harry, you know that?"

He held her quite fiercely now and Harry turned her face to his, anxious to understand what he was saying.

Dempsey gave her a crooked smile. "Thought about comin' back countless times over the years but I'd always got this thing goin' on," he tapped the side of his head, "in here."

She smiled bravely, affecting a joking, superciliousness she wasn't feeling. "What _thing_?"

"I knew that I had to be… I don't know, somebody, somebody worthy."

"Worthy?" Fragile, tinkling laughter spilled from Harry's lips but even as she repeated the word, she had half guessed what he meant.

"I knew I was bein' crazy and it was all in my head but I couldn't let go of this need to better myself; to make lots o' money, to make a name for myself, I wanted to be somebody you'd be interested in knowing, " he chuckled."

Slowly, he stroked her thigh.

"James… " Harry began but again he laughed easily.

"I know, I know – crazy. You'd think I woulda learned my lesson but nah, I never could quite believe that someone like you would be serious about someone like me."

"But you knew how much I loved you."

"Yeah but would you ever have made an honest man outa me?"

Dempsey glanced her way but refrained from making eye contact. She'd never really commented upon his confession last night, that marriage and children with her had been everything he'd wanted. The conversation had gone off at a tangent – maybe she'd wanted it that way, to avoid having to think about it – or maybe she hadn't quite believed him.

"Come off it, James," Harry sniffed shakily, "you're a confirmed bachelor, you were never going to marry anyone, it isn't in your nature."

"I woulda married you."

The words clung to the fresh, still air and Harry found herself fixating, ironically, on the spire of a church just visible in the distance. The silence drifted on until she managed to draw enough air into her lungs to speak.

"You can say that now – it was a very long time ago. Things were… tempestuous."

Dempsey shifted his position as he tried to distribute Harry's weight more evenly.

"Tempestuous," he grinned, leaning her backwards and away from him, "yeah, I like that. That's a great word," he smiled into her face which was now level with his.

"Are you mocking me?" she asked waveringly.

"Nooo! I was simply pointing out that the word 'tempestuous' was a nice choice. Pretty much sums up how things were at the end."

Harry was unsure of where he was going with this and even less sure of what he was expecting her to say.

But Dempsey hadn't quite finished.

"Still doesn't alter the fact that I wanted us to get married," his tone had suddenly lowered, "wanted us to have babies together… and no, I ain't lookin' back through rose-tinted spectacles, that was what I wanted only it all kinda came apart at the seams before I'd had a chance to tell you."

"It would've made all the difference… if I'd known that."

Harry wiped a tear away, taking comfort from the warmth of his body as a chill swept through her.

"Yeah, well it's somethin' that's never sat right with me and findin' out about Jay just confirmed to me how stupid I was for never actually bringing it out into the open."

Harry covered his hand with her own where it still rested on her thigh. "All those years we wasted… such a terrible shame," she mused quietly.

"For all of us."

He was right of course. Everybody had suffered in varying degrees – nobody had got what they wanted, not really.

"Always loved you, Harry," Dempsey reflected. "If things maybe weren't quite goin' to plan, I'd think to myself, it'd be better if Harry were here. And even when life was great, ya know, when me an' Juliette were on track, when the money really started to roll in, I'd still find myself wanting to share what I was feelin' and what I had with you. I've always wondered what my life would be like with you in it."

He'd astounded himself with his own honesty. He'd just opened his mouth and spilt his guts and he'd heard all the stuff that he'd never imagined he'd be able to say out loud. He'd missed Harry being in his life – of course he had but until now, he hadn't been able to formalise in his mind exactly to what extent her not being there had affected him.

"Christmas!" Harry said, out of the blue. "We never had a Christmas together and I've always wondered what that would be like."

"It'll be terrific," Dempsey grinned, running with the upturn in the conversation, "just like out first holiday together is gonna be."

Harry smiled, stroking his cheek.

It still sounded just a little bit odd, him using words like 'holiday'; 'pavement', 'tap', and 'trousers' rather than the American equivalent she remembered. She used to correct him for her own amusement, enjoying the reaction it invariably provoked but now she almost wished he was talking about a 'vacation'. Over the last few weeks she had become aware of these small changes and it saddened her to think that she hadn't been around to be a part of his naturalisation.

He had mellowed too, not so loud, a distinct softening around the edges although this of course was due in part to the ageing process. How would he have changed had she been there to influence him and how different would she be?

"You don't think we're rushing into this?"

He regarded her apprehensively. "Do you?"

She reached a hand out and flicked a few stray crumbs off the table with a nervous laugh. "I asked you first."

"Kinda worries me that you asked at all," he suggested tentatively.

That was really the only answer she needed. She kissed his nose and said in a casual tone, "I've never visited the Far East although wherever we go, we should definitely leave it until after Christmas."


	98. Chapter 98

**The music for the opening scene is 'Tacoma Trailer', a sort of semi-classical instrumental by Leonard Cohen... magical, beautiful, uplifting but also sad and very haunting - definitely a 'star-crossed lovers' theme.**

**I'm going to carry on with the extra plotline that's been in my head for so long so there'll be a few more chapters yet before the story reaches its conclusion. Please keep reviewing! **

Chapter 98

They managed to fall asleep in the bath.

Tired from a lack of sleep the previous night and further debilitated by the bout of deliciously dirty aqua aerobics, it was all too easy to drift away, immersed in the warm and exotically scented foaming waters of the large tub.

Harry awoke first, a little chilly and disorientated, struggling up from a dream where Dempsey was shouting his mouth off at an elderly Japanese gentleman who was insisting that the hotel they were in had no double rooms, only single occupancy sleeping capsules. The long corridor they were in was carpeted with sweet-smelling pink Sakura blossoms which felt soft and cool under Harry's bare feet but when she looked up at Dempsey she saw with dismay that he had evidently relented and was climbing up into one of the upper level sleeping capsules.

"Can't we just try somewhere else?" Harry called out, waking herself up.

Dempsey's arms wrapped about her protectively as consciousness got into harness. The sloshing water sounded very loud to both their ears.

"You wanna do what?" he asked blearily.

Harry shook her head. "I don't know."

The dream was rapidly receding from her memory.

"We were in Japan… I think it was a hotel…" and then she realised, "it isn't very warm, is it?"

"You were dreamin'," Dempsey chuckled. "Was I in it?"

"Of course. You're always in my dreams."

Dempsey winced as he adjusted his position. His lower body had become uncomfortably set behind Harry's weight and his hips and knees were now painfully stiff.

"Are you okay?" she asked, moving herself forward.

"These poor ole bones ain't used to so much action," he groaned.

Harry looked over her shoulder as she pulled the plug to let the tepid water drain away.

"I think those _poor ole bones _had better get used to it," she told him with certitude.

"Maybe you should show me a few of your Yoga positions… or maybe I should say, a few more. You're still pretty good in confined spaces," he acknowledged with a grin.

Harry turned herself about, the hot water tap now running.

"Only 'pretty good', Dempsey?" she asked, raising herself up to straddle him, hands braced against the rim of the bath.

She was looking down at him, her head held high, a curl to her lip.

God, she did things to him!

The water was beginning to warm up again, Harry's movements causing it to swell and swirl invitingly and Dempsey reached up to take her chin roughly in his dripping fingers.

"Yeah, only 'pretty good'." He drew her forward. "So are you gonna show me otherwise, huh?"

"Is that a challenge?" she asked darkly, letting him guide her mouth to his.

"You'd better believe it."

They kissed sparingly before Dempsey released her chin from his grip to run strong hands over her lean, wet torso.

"Never could get enough of you," he muttered, gazing up at the body wriggling and stretching appreciatively to his touch.

She pulled away from him just long enough to reach back and turn off the tap.

"Then we won't stop until you're sated," Harry announced with mock dramatics and then laughed as she registered the stirring of his approval below the fragrant but now bubble-less waters.

* * *

Dempsey was downstairs 'making some calls'.

Harry knew he was having to make arrangements to cover his shift at the bar this afternoon and although she suggested that maybe she should be going home now anyway, she didn't object too strongly when he told her it wasn't a problem and he wanted her to stay a while longer.

The buzz of the hairdryer in her ears was making her sleepy and it was all she could do to keep her head up as she ran the brush through lengths of hair.

At last, she was finished and wearily unplugged the dryer from the socket below the mirror. It was so hot today– not a breath of air was coming in from the open balcony door.

Looking about her, Harry realised she had rather taken over the bedroom and she set about tidying away her belongings, picking up her underwear that had been discarded on the floor on her side of the bed and the shoes, one of which had unfortunately torn through the sheet with the heel. She felt a warm glow suffuse her cheeks at the memory.

She had already hung up the dress on a spare coat hanger earlier that morning but the rest of her accoutrement was very much in evidence.

She went about the room collecting together the various pots and tubes of skin creams and make-up she had left out, the hair care products, deodorant and perfume that adorned every surface it seemed.

Harry wasn't good at living out of a case.

With everything now packed away in the leather holdall, she sat at the foot of the bed and slipped into her sandals, gazing about her for anything she might have overlooked as she fastened the straps.

Her eye fell upon the shelf on the wall opposite and the large metal ball ornament that had so intrigued Harry during her first foray into Dempsey's inner sanctum.

She went and took it down, sprawling across the bed with it in her hands.

Glancing at her watch, she noted the time was a few minutes before 2:00pm. The day was half over already! She'd give James a few minutes more and then go downstairs to join him.

It had to be more than just an elaborate gimcrack – it was some sort of a puzzle too. She was convinced it could be opened somehow and she was determined to be the one to do it. James didn't seem particularly interest, or maybe he's just given up, having wasted who knew how many hours of his life trying to figure it out already. Well, she wasn't about to give up – the thought of James' annoyance when she succeeded where he had failed was quite sufficient enough reason for excessive time-wasting.

She smiled wickedly. He'd always brought out the competitive streak in her.

The ball, or whatever it was, was quite beautiful in a strange sort of a way. The swirled patterns were almost but not quite, pictures. You thought you could make out the image of some bizarre, fantastical creature and then it disappeared, evolving instead into the flourishing branches of a tree which, when turned to another angle, morphed into the arteries and veins of a fossilized life form.

She didn't think she would ever tire of looking at it and the fact that it was also such a tactile piece made it doubly captivating.

Harry realised that she was still smiling.

They were together again and it felt so bloody wonderful! Just the thought of him; she could envisage him downstairs talking on the phone and it was enough to make her heart swell.

He wouldn't be standing still; he would pace a few steps and then stop for a moment, gesturing with his free hand, maybe he would break into that boyish grin, incline his head… pacing again, prowling, restless.

She knew she was one of the few people who knew his quiet side, the still side of James Dempsey, the man who could look up silently at a night sky and contemplate the stars, who could sit alone at a pavement café table and smoke his entire cigar watching the world go by and who could hold you in his arms and make you feel his love without uttering a single word.

She was doing the right thing – they were meant to be and whilst Jay might not be jumping for joy right now, neither was she objecting to her mother having a relationship with Dempsey.

Her thumbnail slid into one of the intricate depressions and to her surprise, a minute sliver of the metal gave way.

Nothing else happened other than her nail was now a quarter of an inch inside the shell.

She carefully extracted it, seeing the sliver flip back into place so she pushed down again. It was such a tiny aperture (hardly any greater than the breadth of the nail itself) that it was impossible to see inside but at least it confirmed that it really was more than just a bauble. She tried to memorize the spot; underneath what looked like a rose thorn and surrounded by what could be construed as a clenched fist. Eventually, she would work out how the thing opened but until then, she wasn't going to let James know she had made progress just in case he beat her to it!

She found it odd that he kept it up here in the bedroom when it was obviously more suited to the living room as a coffee table conversation piece. He'd had it a long time too. He'd told her he'd bought it in New York many years ago which meant he'd taken it to Jersey with him when he left and then when he'd come to London last year, rather than leaving it in the family home, he had chosen to pack it up with his other belongings.

She could only assume it held great sentimental importance. Maybe it represented the time when, rock bottom having been reached, he had managed to turn his life around and start anew. Maybe, for him, it symbolized a fresh beginning and he had kept the ornament as a visual reminder.

Harry rested her cheek on the cool, crisp white counterpane and closed her eyes for a moment, the ball suddenly inexorably heavy in her hands…


	99. Chapter 99

**I suppose this is sort of a filler chapter but I just like to see them together enjoying themselves ;-)**

Chapter 99

"Hey, sleepyhead."

Harry turned her head a little, her eyebrows lifting even though her eyes remained closed. "Mmm?"

"You hungry?" Dempsey asked, relishing the moment that her blue eyes opened to register her surprise at the sight of him.

She sat bolt upright and he had to veer to the side to avoid a collision.

"What time is it?"

"Just comin' up to four."

"Four?" she squarked. "I've been asleep for two hours!"

Utching herself off the bed, she ran her hands through her hair, looking at Dempsey worriedly. "I'm so sorry! Why didn't you wake me?"

"I just did," he pointed out reasonably.

"No –sooner. You shouldn't have let me sleep that long."

"I woulda let you sleep longer only…"

He'd caught sight of the ornamental ball on the bed.

"… I've, um…"

Picking it up nonchalantly, he sauntered across the room to replace it on the shelf.

"… I've made us some food; salmon parcels stuffed with mozzarella, crème fraiche and a little basil, new potatoes…" he took her by the hand and lead her to the bedroom door, "and a rocket and tomato salad."

He hadn't said a word about the ball – hadn't even acknowledged it. It was almost like he didn't want her to have anything to do with it, as though he wanted to keep it away from her. She remembered on that first occasion, Dempsey had practically snatched it off her -but then she'd had more concerns than the solving of a pretty puzzle ball. Now though, she was curious and perhaps slightly anxious to know the reason behind his perplexing behaviour.

"I'm very impressed. It sounds wonderful."

"You should be; chose it all by myself from the chilled counter in Sainsburys."

"Ah well, it's the thought that counts."

Very deliberately, she glanced over at the shelf. As he followed her line of sight, Harry turned her head quickly and caught his eye.

"I must've fallen asleep trying to fathom that damned thing out," she tried as an opener.

Dempsey nodded vaguely and murmured, "That's good." He guided her out through the doorway and shut the door firmly behind them. "Certainly wouldn't want you losing any sleep over it."

Why did she get the feeling there was a double meaning in that throw-away comment?

"I'm sure I'll have worked it out long before it comes to that," she tested.

"If you want, later we could drop by this little blues bar I know in Kingston. They got some fabulous musicians playin' there – the real deal."

"Later?" asked Harry, nonplussed.

"Great vocalists too. There's this one guy goes by the name of Henry Dax – sends tingles up and down your spine." Dempsey's fingers played over her back as though to reinforce the idea. "Got him to do a couple o' gigs at my place a few months back but they've got him on contract at True Blues now."

Harry stopped and turned to him. "It's just that… well, shouldn't I be going home at some point this evening?"

Dempsey shrugged. "Is that what you want?" he asked her simply.

She pulled a pained expression, depicting guilt, unease and longing. "Not reeeeally," she drew out.

"So stay."

He carried on walking towards the staircase and she automatically followed.

"I can't!" she protested, her stomach rumbling at the smell of the baking salmon coming up to greet them.

"Why?"

"Because I've already put you out enough."

"Put me out," he repeated flatly. "Let me tell ya somethin', Harry, the last thing I'm feelin' right now is 'put out'."

She put her arm about his waist and squeezed playfully. "You know what I mean. I didn't think we'd be going out tonight. You've supposedly got your own bar to run, remember?"

"And if I can get people to do that for me, what does it matter?"

"So naturally, Julius is perfectly happy to be left running the place again."

"I got Gavin to cover my shift, Julius is the manager anyway, no harm done."

"I'm sure he doesn't see it as quite so black and white," she sighed. "All this gallivanting about isn't making him love me any more, is it?"

"Julius likes to have somethin' to bitch about – gets him through the wee small hours."

They were in the kitchen now and Dempsey went to take the salmon out of the oven.

"If you wanna go home, it's no problem," he said gently. "We'll eat and then I'll drive you."

"No! The objection came out with greater force than intended. It was the hang-dog expression with the puppy-dog eyes that had felled her. "I mean, couldn't we compromise?"

The soft brown eyes crinkled at the corners. "What did you have in mind?"

Harry collected up the salad bowl in one hand and the dish of new potatoes in the other and preceded Dempsey through to the dining room where she set them down at the table laid for two.

"I was just thinking…" she picked up a fork and speared a cherry tomato, "… maybe we could spend a few hours at the bar first – you know, to pacify Man Friday, and then have the rest of the night together at the other place."

Putting the oven dish down and folding the cloth he'd used to hold it with into a haphazard square (which he then flung to one side anyway) he looked at Harry with a frown.

"Julius is okay ya know. I told him about Jay and I told him the reasons for you keeping quiet about her." He smiled contritely. "Think he got his head around it faster than me, but that's Julius for ya, he sees things the way they are and makes his mind up on the spot."

They sat and began serving themselves.

"Does that mean there'll be a recognisable thaw in relations then?"

"Yeah but if I know Julius, it'll be kind of a sluggish drip, drip, drip."

Harry passed over the potatos.

"Sounds like I've got a damp evening ahead of me."

"So we'll give it a miss tonight, it'll be simpler."

"It isn't about making things simple though, is it?" She unfolded her napkin, laying it across her lap. "I'm not helping my case by keeping you away from your work; it just makes me look… domineering."

"You're not?" he asked cheekily.

Harry tutted. "No, I'm not."

"Not even if I ask you real nice?"

"Dempsey!" she cautioned. "I'm being serious. Don't pretend his opinion doesn't matter to you because I know it does; he's a big part of your life."

"Yeah, he is," he acknowledged with a wise incline of his head, "and so are you. The way I see it, we might as well have some fun while we wait for his sour-puss to melt. He'll be fine – just gonna take a while for him to see you as anything other than…" he hesitated.

"The blue-blood bitch?"

Having filled her plate, Harry sat back, playing with her napkin. "I don't want to cause any friction between the two of you. I know if it were Angela feeling the way Julius does, I'd be devastated."

Dempsey smirked. "That's 'cause you're a girl. Guys take it on the chin," he ribbed.

"Rubbish!" Harry shot back with conviction.

He just chuckled and started eating. Harry followed suit.

After a minute, she paused. "So what about tonight? The bar first?"

"Boy, you don't give up, do you?" he said, shaking his head.

"I want to go. I want Julius on side even if you don't."

Dempsey looked at her hard, chewing on a mouthful of food.

"Please?"

"I already got Gavin to cover."

"So ring Gavin back – tell him his services are no longer required for this evening – he might've had plans anyway."

"Yeah and he might've been glad of the extra hours."

"Pay him then." Harry rested her elbows either side of her plate, leaning towards him with her fingers laced. She wanted her own way on this one and she knew a bit of mild flirting would be enough to get it.

She smiled seductively and waited.

"I had to offer double time to get him to agree and you want me to pay him anyway?" Dempsey forked salmon into his mouth.

Dropping one arm and bearing her chin on the knuckles of her other hand, Harry wheedled, "Pleeeease?"

"Lemme get this straight; you want me to work the shift I'm payin' Gavin a small fortune to do so's you can score some points with my bar manager?"

"You know," Harry purred, not taking her eyes off his, "cheapness is an awfully unattractive trait in a man."

Dempsey leaned in closer. "Funny, I love it in a woman."

"Mmm." She offered him a look of disdain but then immediately reverted to her most beguiling demeanour.

"So?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of the chase.

Dempsey shrugged, watching as she took up her fork again, looping a hank of blonde hair behind her ear before she delicately broke off a few flakes of salmon.

"You'll be sittin' all by yourself if I'm workin'."

Harry pushed the fork past her lips, taking the food with her teeth.

"I thought I'd sit at the bar. You'll be serving won't you?"

"If we're busy, I won't have time to parlez."

"I can sit back and admire your bar-tending skills."

Her tongue came out to lick a non-existent morsel from her lower lip.

Dempsey observed, only half registering her duplicity.

"Which reminds me…" He stood up and went to a tall cabinet atop which stood an opened bottle of white and two glasses.

"Is that a good idea? I'm not sure I've fully recovered from last night yet," said Harry. "You're not going to take advantage of me again are you?"

"See, there's the thing…" he poured out the wine, "if you want me workin' at the bar tonight, there's gonna be no opportunity for… recreation, not if we're movin' on to True Blues afterward.

Harry took up her wineglass in her left hand. "Well, you don't have to rush off after you drop me at home do you? You could always stop over."

"Tonight?" Dempsey asked, surprised. "I was thinkin' you'd be staying over with me again."

"I really have got to go home at some point," Harry said innocently though in actual fact she had merely been confirming what she had assumed to be the case.

"But not tonight, huh? Besides, you'd only be crampin' Ed's style – you know Lydia'll be keepin' the loneliness at bay anyways."

After tasting the wine, Harry replaced her glass on the table and began to eat again.

"My compliments to Lord Sainsbury by the way," she said, deliberately changing the subject.

"What, you mean he ain't a friend of the family; distant cousin maybe?"

"Sorry to disappoint you James but we aren't even on nodding terms. I'm merely a humble collector of Nectar points the same as you."

"That's too bad."

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

He'd call Gavin back in a few minutes and tell him there'd been a change of plan but not right away – he was enjoying having Harry flirt with him to get what she wanted.

"I hadn't actually realised how hungry I was," Harry continued, picking up her knife to cut into a potato. "This is absolutely delicious."

"Glad it meets with m'lady's approval."

Harry looked up, smiling radiantly. "It does. Thank you."

He loved the way she'd said 'thank you', pronouncing the 'k' almost with a click, another contribution to the art of seduction Harry employed when the need arose. He remembered her using that one years ago, sometimes with him when they went undercover, sometimes when she went solo on a sting and he listened in on her wire as she sagaciously reeled in the perp. And sometimes when it was just the two of them…

Funny thing but in a perverse sort of a way, that used to turn him on, the extended role play. He knew it was a subconscious thing with her although he didn't doubt that on some level, she knew what she was doing. Like now with the clickey 'k' still on her tongue, she seemed suddenly aware of the effect it had had.

Dempsey reached for his wine glass, finally dragging his eyes away from her mouth.

"No problem," he muttered, taking a sip.

The silver heart hanging from her wrist danced and sparkled as she worked her knife back and forth and he couldn't help but smile.

"Ten-thirty," he said decisively with narrowed eyes.

"Sorry?"

"I'll work 'til ten-thirty then we're goin', okay?"

"Okay," she agreed blithely, amused by his grudging tone.

Harry watched as he fished his mobile from out of his pocket and put a call through to Gavin.

"Yeah, yeah," he apologised, "I know it's messin' you around…"

Leaning forward, Harry hissed loudly, "Double time!"

Dempsey grimaced.


	100. Chapter 100

Chapter 100

Harry stationed herself at the end of the bar with a filter coffee and divided her attention between the solo act – a young female artist with a voice and a guitar – and Dempsey as he pulled, poured, mixed and shook the drinks for his patrons.

He had been quite correct when he had told her there would be very little time for conversation; he was kept busy with a constant flow of requests from Anthea and Jill as they took drinks orders from their tables.

Julius Bell was working alongside him but hardly had two words to say to Harry – until Anthea went on a break during a quieter period and Dempsey took over bussing tables which gave him the opportunity to schmooze with the customers for a while.

Harry jumped when Julius's voice suddenly boomed in her ear, "You want more coffee?"

She turned away from her view of the stage in surprise.

"Thank you! That would be nice."

Rather ungraciously, he slid the cup and saucer away and sauntered off to get Harry a refill.

Her eyes flitted back to the stage although she wasn't really concentrating now.

"I'm guessin' this was your idea – Dempsey puttin' in an appearance tonight," Julius said upon his return.

Harry decided she wasn't going to let him get to her.

"Not much gets past you does it, Mister Bell?"

She took a sip of her coffee and then looked him in the eye as she said, "You know, just because I suggested he come in tonight doesn't mean I have a hidden agenda."

"No?" he asked coolly. "So you like sittin' here by yourself lookin' like you're waitin' for somebody to pick you up?"

She refused to bite.

"Look, I know and you know that if Dempsey isn't pulling his weight because of me, sooner or later you're going to get seriously pissed off. I daresay I'd feel exactly the same in your shoes. He thinks an awful lot of you, I'm under no illusions on that score and if you're unhappy, he's unhappy."

She gave him a knowing smile. "Believe it or not, Julius, the blue-blood bitch wants us _all _to be happy."

His stony façade slipped and he came close to smiling himself.

"Hey, don't worry 'bout me, sweetheart, I'm just the trained ape, remember?"

Harry was on the verge of a blush when Julius carried on, "Besides, what I hear, you're practically family now."

He was still giving nothing away other than the fact that Dempsey had told him about Jay; his attitude was as gruff as ever.

"In a manner of speaking," she replied noncommittally.

"One helluva secret to keep."

"I had my reasons."

Julius nodded imperceptibly. "Yeah. Keepin' you and him alive would count as a pretty good reason I guess."

Before Harry had time to respond, Julius had drifted away to serve a customer who had come up to the bar.

Harry returned her eyes to the singer with her guitar, still not fully appreciating what she was hearing but now at least with a much lighter heart and a genuine smile on her lips.

…...

A few minutes later, Dempsey was back with his circular tray filled with empty glasses.

As he walked around the back of her to get behind the bar he said close to her ear, "You kids playin' nice?"

Harry nodded. "I believe he's made his feelings clear on the subject of your daughter…"

"Whad he say to you?" Dempsey asked with concern. "He knows the circumstances… he's got no reason to…"

"It's fine," Harry placated him gently. "Really. I'm glad we came tonight."

She glanced across at Julius who looked up briefly as he pulled a pint of lager, acknowledging her but nothing more.

"I think we might have at least reached an understanding."

"But he was okay with you, right?" Dempsey asked tentatively.

"He was practically pleasant!" she quipped.

Dempsey was relieved. The last thing he wanted was to be forced to choose between his lover and his best friend. For one thing, it was such a cliché and for another, he'd miss Julius like hell.

"He's a man of few words but I got the idea yesterday that he'd had to change his view of you pretty much."

"Well, the only way was up I suppose."

A sudden burst of applause indicated that the singer had reached the end of her set. Harry and Dempsey joined in, Dempsey quickly checking his watch.

"Okay, just gimme a couple of minutes with Hannah and then we're gone."

He kissed her quickly before darting off up the bar towards Julius, tossing two waiting slips onto the counter that he'd just taken from the tray of empties.

"Fill these for me, pal; I'm gonna go sort things out with Hannah," he called and doubled back on himself, kissing Harry again on his way past.

She smiled and watched him weave through the tables towards the stage, hopping up and putting his arm around the young singer's shoulders as she bent to unplug the amplifier. He said something that made her laugh and he broke into a grin.

Ever the ladies' man, thought Harry – and they were still falling for the old Dempsey charm.

He was missing for a good fifteen minutes, having taken Hannah up to the flat to pay her for the evening and to book another three appearances.

"You movin' on somewhere?" asked Julius, wiping his hands on a tea towel and throwing it across his shoulder as he neared her.

Harry looked up. "True Blues, apparently," she informed him. "Have you been?"

Julius hunched himself over the bar top. "It's where I am when I ain't here."

"Good then?"

Julius didn't reply but raised his hand in greeting to a customer who had just come in and was making his way over to one of the side sofas.

He was by himself. A tall, slim man with thinning blond hair, he was probably mid- forties, Harry surmised. She noted that he appeared far too smartly dressed for the venue and seemed to have a slightly nervous air about him. After all these years, she still couldn't help herself; she still had to size people up, analyse their motives and figure them out.

"Regular?" Harry asked.

"As they come. Every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday – last stop before home I guess. Drinks Vodka and Russian, tips big and never says a word."

"Interesting."

"Think so, huh?"

"I'd guess he's a very lonely guy who's trying to evoke a bit of mystery," Harry theorised thoughtfully.

Julius turned his head, eyebrows raised and just stared.

Harry shrugged. "Just a thought," she said, sipping her coffee. He was ridiculing her, wasn't he?

"Yeah… same thought as Dempsey!"

"Ah." What could she possibly say that wouldn't scream out, 'point to Missus Cavanagh'?

After a pause, Julius said, "You're gonna either make him or break him, you realise that?"

There was such a chilling undercurrent to his words that Harry felt herself stiffen and suddenly it wasn't about point scoring at all.

"It goes wrong this time, he ain't gonna bounce back, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"It won't go wrong," said Harry tightly, "I won't let it. I love him too much to let that happen. And you can rest assured," she looked into her half empty cup of deep brown coffee with a quirky solemnity, "James isn't the only one who would fail to bounce."

Julius nodded. "Good answer."

"That's it. We're outa here!"

Right now, Dempsey seemed very 'bouncy' as he strode towards them, leaning himself up against the bar beside Harry. "Ready to go, babe?"

Harry grimaced. "My name, Dempsey, is not 'babe' and yes, I'm ready to go."

"Hey, what's the problem?" he chuckled. "You see a problem with that?" he asked Julius.

The big black man merely shook his head, not in agreement but in a 'not my concern' sort of a way.

"Term of affection… like 'honey'. You're okay with 'honey', right?"

He handed her down off the stool.

"In moderation… it is rather sweet, I suppose," and added, flashing him a coy little smile, "Come on then, _darling_, if we're going."

Dempsey swept his arm out expansively. "After you, _sweetheart_."

As Dempsey turned, Julius asked, "Is there a chance you'll make it to rehearsals tomorrow?"

He pretended to put some thought into it. "Yeah," he nodded ponderously, "yeah, there's a distinct possibility."

"I could do with getting home early tomorrow anyway," said Harry whose face was the picture of oblivious innocence.

"Another good answer." Julius actually smiled – if not directly at her then certainly in her direction. "You're smashin' it," and his eyes met with hers momentarily.

Harry bowed her head. "Thank you, Julius."

Dempsey looked from one to the other. "I'm not even gonna ask."

He put a guiding arm about Harry's waist and propelled her forwards, raising his other hand in a backward farewell.

"Be seein' ya, pal."

"Yeah – _tomorrow_," he told him.

Taking the tea towel from his shoulder, he called out gruffly, "See ya later, Blue," before strolling back up the bar.

"Blue?" Dempsey grinned as he and Harry left. "I'm hearin' that drip, drip, drip, Harry."


	101. Chapter 101

**Sorry it's been so long inbetween chapters - I'll try to hurry up a bit with 102 but please don't hold me to that ;-)**

**Please, please review. As I seem to be the only one writing D&M at the moment (hint, hint) you've got no excuse not to.**

Chapter 101

Harry fell in love with 'True Blues'.

The décor wasn't extravagant and the place itself was relatively small but she had never been to a live music venue that was quite so _live_. There was a raw, throbbing edginess that appealed to her primary instincts and she marvelled at the fact that such a palpably smoky atmosphere had been achieved within the smoke-free setting.

The singer Dempsey had mentioned came on stage an hour after they arrived but having spied Dempsey beforehand, came over to say hello.

Henry Dax was a small, plump, unassuming little man who could have been fifty years old or seventy, it was impossible to tell. Although his speaking voice was as 'Home Counties' as Harry's, when he sang, his dark brown, gravely tones melted with the warm, buttery magic of a hundred misspent New York nights.

Harry stole the occasional glance at Dempsey and each time found the hook of blissful satisfaction at his mouth and his fingertips softly following the beat.

There was room to dance. The generation who had leant in their youth and now seldom got the opportunity to practice were encouraged to take to the floor and indulge themselves. But for those who couldn't, there was no need for the formality of the steps; the music dictated a certain carefree romanticism bordering on raunchiness as the couples moved and swayed together.

The pinnacle of the night came when Dax performed a rendition of the Irvin Berlin number, 'Always'.

It was bluesy and intimately unstructured with Dax, the musicians and the two backing singers clearly enjoying what they were doing just as much as the audience. Everybody became quite raucous, laughing and singing along and the whooping and cheering certainly wasn't confined to only Dempsey. He swung Harry around in his arms, feeling her so relaxed and uninhibited that he wanted the night to never end.

"You havin' fun?" he shouted above the applause as the song finally, after a good ten minutes, drew to a close.

"It's wonderful!" she enthused. "I do hope you're going to bring me here again, James."

"Any time you like, Princess. Any time you like."

* * *

July came and went in a powerful infusion of ebullient happiness and torpid satisfaction.

It was tempting to set everything else aside and treat their time together like a holiday but Harry was conscious of her writing commitments and Dempsey still had a bar to run. However, by the end of the month, Harry was spending more time at his house than her own, the majority of the week staying over in Kingston with him.

It seemed quite normal until she thought about it and then it seemed to hit her in great waves just how surreal the situation was. She was practically living with a man who hadn't been in her life since 1987, save for the past couple of months or so – the father of her child, yes, but a virtual stranger in effect.

So why did it feel so right? _How_ did it feel so right?

Dempsey was thinking along the same lines. It bothered him that maybe he was steering Harry in the direction that he had created in his mind as being the ideal pathway. It had all come together and that in itself was scary. This was how he had envisaged things for them, the dream, the fantasy and so now it was almost like he was waiting for reality to hit. Lucky he'd always been good at dodge ball as a kid.

They argued of course, regularly and vigorously but nothing was ever said with either bitterness or sincerity. They were sparring partners, evenly matched in their jabs and digs and punching below the belt was just a way of saying, 'I know what makes you tick'. They got a buzz out of fighting. It recharged the batteries and invigorated the senses in a way that was strangely satisfying, just like it always used to be. Neither of them pretended to understand the chemistry that was at work but it fired their relationship and sealed them together, making them burn with a livid vitality.

On the flipside (although that would imply a negative and a positive which really wasn't the case as far as they were concerned) they continued to share a sense of humour. Dempsey was funny and his sharp wit and warm irony, conveyed in equal measure, had Harry in stitches regularly. And Harry had quite a wicked streak which Dempsey saw as being 'terribly British' and consequently she could make him laugh without trying too hard.

The two extremes met somewhere in the middle; two sides to a coin that spun relentlessly on its' edge, flashing quick and bright and self-perpetuating.

And this time, they both understood its value.

* * *

The family get-together Phil had suggested took place, just the four of them, mum and dad, brother and sister and it was all very civilized. In fact, it was maybe too civilized for Phil who deep down had hoped for the chance to provide Jay with a shoulder to cry on and a strength for her to draw upon. He had wanted to be the pillar, the rock, the tower of strength and dispense wise and comforting words that would bind them all together… only it didn't turn out that way.

His ex-wife was what he thought of as 'obscenely content', her only concern being the welfare of her children. She didn't need him as a crutch to support her nor to help her justify her past actions. She was quite adament, however, that the exact details of her 'actions' didn't need to be discussed with Jay because she didn't need to know. His daughter (for to him that was what she was and would always be) was now quite accepting of her situation. She told him that for her, like him, nothing had really changed but she hoped he would understand that especially with Dempsey being in Harry's life, it was inevitable that they would form some sort of a relationship and as Dempsey was welcoming her with open arms, it would be churlish to resist.

She referred to him as 'Dempsey' and although it was a surname it always seemed to be used as a pet name by everyone who came into contact with him. It riled Phil and that his daughter should use it was like a stab in the back. But he put on a brave front and didn't even acknowledge it because at least she would never call him 'dad'.

And his son.

Ed refused to be drawn in any direction. Clearly he saw himself as something of an outsider and passed little comment at the dinner table, simply expressing relief that it was all out in the open and things could go back to normal eventually. Phil wondered if it was more an inward desire than a forgone conclusion, a hint that his father didn't need to take things any further.

Quite simply, the big revelation hadn't had the catastrophic consequences he had always envisaged and he was left feeling superfluous to requirements. No wife in need of comfort and no devastated, shell-shocked children to pacify. He was never going to be the hero because they didn't need him and he didn't really want to hear Catherine's tentative suggestion that that was probably a good thing.

Ed bowed out of the afternoon Dempsey arranged.

'No offence but it's sort of between you three, isn't it', was his reasoning so Dempsey and Harry took Jay out alone one Sunday afternoon for drinks and a late lunch. They ate al fresco at a quaint little pub south of the river. It was a bit awkward at first until the first glass kicked in and then Jay confessed how 'weirded out' she felt and they all were able to laugh about it. She wanted to be told again the circumstances under which Dempsey had gone back to The States and she said she still didn't understand why Harry had refused to tell him of her pregnancy. When she had spoken to them individually they had both been deliberately vague and she had let it go but now together, she was happy to put them on the spot.

Harry knew it was time and Dempsey sat and quietly smoked his cigar whilst she told their daughter of the attack that had taken place all those years ago and the frightening threats that had been levied against them.

She tried to be strong but when Jay began to cry silent tears, Harry's resolve faded even as she laughed off the event as belonging to the past. It was at that point that Dempsey rose from his chair to lightly put his arms around the shoulders of the huddled women, murmuring that he was going off to pay the bill.

They left a short while later to move on to a bar a few hundred yards up river. They walked along the tree-lined pavement in the last of the warm evening sunshine, Harry and Jay arm in arm and Dempsey at Jay's side, hands in his trouser pockets.

"Just think," said Jay, reaching across to link her other arm through his, "anybody seeing us would think I've been out for the afternoon with my parents!"

* * *

Coming up to the second week of August, the heatwave broke and two solid days of rain ensued.

It was a welcome relief. The earth drank greedily and at the end of the deluge, everything was fresh and bright and green. The heavy haze that had built up, so insidiously warm and cloying was finally cast off, leaving a sweet, cleanliness in its stead.

"Honey, have you seen my sunglasses?" Dempsey called from the kitchen where he was rummaging through the pile of junk on the table.

They were on their way out to the supermarket as part of the preparations for Jack's visit. Dempsey was keen to stock up on Coca-Cola, Jammie Dodgers, cans of Heinz Baked Beans and Sausages and also Stilton cheese which Jack liked on toast with 'a smidge of marmalade' apparently. The boy obviously had inherited his father's rather robust palate.

"You're not going to need them, are you?" Harry replied from the hallway. "They said it's going to be overcast all day, today."

"And what do 'they' know? They never get it right."

Harry thumbed the car fob in her hand. "Come on, James. I'm driving anyway so you can manage without them, I'm sure."

Dempsey stood in the kitchen doorway.

"Didn't you drive last time we went out?"

"Yes, I did but I'm the one who's ready and waiting," she challenged. "Is it a problem?"

Dempsey grinned. She was so easy to wind up sometimes but this time, he hadn't even been trying.

"I ain't castin' aspersions on your driving abilities, just thinkin' that I maybe left my sunglasses in your car."

Harry smiled at his wounded expression and asked, "Bedroom?"

"Great idea but we should probably get a move on."

"Your sunglasses, Dempsey! Bedside table?"

"Yeah, could be."

With that, he took the stairs two at a time. "Two minutes, okay?"

Harry sighed fondly. He'd probably wear the damned things to be buried in!

"Okay," she sing-songed softly, wandering through to check in the living room. After a cursory glance at the mantelpiece and running an eye across any other likely sunglasses repository, she decided that her car was the next most obvious place.

Just as she got back to the hall, the doorbell rang out twice.

"I'll get it," she shouted.

So which was it to be: loft insulation grant? Cheaper gas? Cheaper electricity? Signing up to save the whale, panda, lesser spotted aardvark?

A young man stood on the doorstep dressed in blue jeans and a red and black t-shirt emblazoned with some design or emblem, presumably the logo for a favourite band that Harry was unaware of. He was of slim stature with dark, wavy hair that curled into his neck and he had a healthily tanned complexion. He had grown up a lot since the photograph of him which stood on Dempsey's desk in the flat above the bar had been taken but he was still easily recognisable as Dempsey's son.

The look of total surprise on his face mirrored Harry's.

"Jack! Your dad wasn't expecting you 'til tomorrow."

He had a backpack slung over one shoulder and a large suitcase on wheels beside him on the doorstep. He appeared uncertain and slightly embarrassed now.

"I know… sorry

Jack rubbed a hand through the back of his hair, looking at Harry and then in typically teenaged boy fashion, dropped his eyes to the ground.

Harry opened the door wide. "Don't be silly, he'll be over the moon. He's just upstairs," she explained.

"Oh, right," he replied awkwardly.

"Okay, well, let's get you inside shall we?" She reached for the suitcase, dragging it up over the step and it was then she became aware of the heavy throb of a car engine.

A woman stood further down the driveway, her back to the house as she paid off a taxi cab.

Harry felt the blankness of foreboding wash over her as the woman turned, eye-catchingly curvaceous in a duchess satin floral sheath dress and proceeded to sashay confidently up to the door with her own suitcase in tow.

"In you go then, Jack," she prompted.

She put a hand on the boy's back and ushered him forwards before then quite openly looking Harry up and down with a broad smile. Her eyes had taken in the bag on Harry's shoulder and the key fob hanging loosely from her fingers.

"On your way out?" asked Juliette.


	102. Chapter 102

Chapter 102

"**On your way out?" asked Juliette…**

Harry felt pierced by utter shock. Every nerve in her body seemed to emit tiny little stabs of energy into her flesh and for a moment, all she could do was stand and stare.

Juliette had put on a bit of weight in the three years since the photograph she had seen of her had been taken but it was in all the right places and it suited her. She was what men would probably refer to as 'luscious' or 'voluptuous' and women, with their hang-ups and neuroses would, with a polite cattiness, term as 'big boned'.

"Yes… shopping," Harry responded automatically.

Juliette's eyes shifted from Jack's retreating back to return to Harry, the smile slipping a fraction as she considered that answer.

"Oh," she said, "well, have fun."

She was clearly attempting to work out who this visitor might be but then she appeared to lose interest and called out to Jack, "Go and let Dad know we're here then."

But Dempsey had heard the commotion and was already on his way back downstairs.

"Hey partner! What're you doin' here?" Dempsey called out delightedly. "And whoa, look… Mom came too…" The tone had descended into forced buoyancy.

Hopping off the bottom step, Dempsey grabbed hold of his son and hugged him, ruffling his hair.

"Hiya, Dad," said Jack.

As they parted, Dempsey read the slight discomfort behind the grin and saw his eyes skitter towards his mother who was now upon them. One arm around Dempsey's waist, she leaned up against him to plant a casual kiss on his mouth.

"Surprise!"

He laughed incredulously. "Ain't that the truth?"

He put his hand on her hip to carefully steer her away.

"So what's with the change of plan? Thought I was gonna meet Jack off the ferry at Poole tomorrow."

"I fancied a trip to London. I haven't been here since I was little and as I haven't seen you for so long, I thought you could show me the attractions and we could catch up a bit."

"Hold on, Juliette." He held his hands up palms out. "It isn't what you'd call convenient right now."

"We're only a day early, Jim," she pouted, deliberately missing the point.

His hands went to his hips and he looked down at the floor, shaking his head with an ironic laugh.

"But it wasn't supposed to be 'we'." He raised his eyes to hers. "Just Jack."

There was a slight pause before Dempsey nodded his head past Juliette's shoulder.

"Think you should meet Harry."

Juliette turned with surprise, having forgotten all about the woman who had let them in a few moments before – or so she would have him believe.

"Harriet Cavanagh," said Harry, holding out her hand as she stepped forward.

"Harry?" Juliette queried with a curious smile playing at her mouth as she shook. "You weren't the one Jim used to work with… when he was in the police?"

She glanced back quickly at Dempsey before asking, "You're not Makepeace?"

Harry laughed uncomfortably. "The very same. Nice to meet you, Juliette."

"Ah."

She was obviously evaluating the situation.

"Well, you're a ghost from the past, aren't you? You still live in London then?"

"I do, yes."

"Local?"

She was blatantly fishing and Dempsey was annoyed.

"Look, let's get some coffee and we can discuss fixing you up with a hotel, okay?"

He put his arm around Harry as he made for the kitchen.

"Hotel!" Juliette protested. "Jack says you've got loads of room here."

Their son shrank against the bannister at the bottom of the staircase.

"Well I'm sorry but like I already said, it ain't convenient."

"Jimmy, you can't seriously expect me to stay in a hotel when Jack's here with you."

"We had an arrangement."

Juliette giggled. "You make it sound like there's been a court order or something; visitation rights and access - all that rubbish. I just thought it'd be nice to see each other again… it's hardly asking for the moon, is it?"

"You couldn't have asked first?" Dempsey grated.

Standing patiently with her arms folded across her chest, Harry risked a look towards Jack who was wearing the sort of bored expression that said, '_here we go again_'.

Their eyes locked and as Harry raised her eyebrows, he rolled his eyes with the hint of a wry smile.

For a second, she wondered if she should suggest that she and Jack go and make the coffee but thought better of it – Juliette might view it as gamesmanship.

Instead, she unhitched her arms and murmured to Dempsey, "I think it might be a good idea if I left you to it. Give me a ring in the morning."

She could scarcely believe how understanding she was being but maybe that had more to do with Jack's attitude than her own philanthropy.

She felt Dempsey's arm tighten about her waist.

"I'd prefer it if you stayed, Princess."

Oh, God! Why had he felt the need to call her that? It was just a silly sobriquet but to Juliette it must sound ridiculously saccharine.

"Jim!" gasped Juliette exaggeratedly. "Don't you trust yourself?"

"Maybe I don't trust _you_."

"Me? Don't flatter yourself."

But she was joking with him, letting it be known by those present that there existed a connection between them still.

Joking or not though, Dempsey didn't seem to think it very funny.

"I don't get it. You can't just turn up out of the blue and expect to be welcomed with open arms."

"I wanted to surprise you. I thought you'd be pleased," she sulked.

"No you didn't," Dempsey bit back, "which is how come you didn't warn me in advance."

He wasn't giving her an inch and the atmosphere had now become uncomfortable.

Hoisting her bag up more firmly onto her shoulder, Harry pulled away from Dempsey's grasp, having made a decision.

"Look, I'll leave you two to thrash it out…"

"Why don't you take her with you," Dempsey spoke caustically, "and drop her off at the nearest Travel Lodge."

He said 'Travel Lodge' – they heard 'bridge'.

Harry refrained from replying, knowing that the conversation ran the risk of degenerating even further if she did.

He was in a foul temper and whilst she could understand perfectly well the reason, neither she nor indeed Jack needed to be involved. She cast a surreptitious glance at the boy again. He had one hand on the newel post at the foot of the stairs and he was watching his fingers as he twisted them back and forth around the base of the ball cap. He was blanking them out and it made Harry incredibly sad.

"Oh, Harry, please don't go on our account," Juliette chirruped.

"No, it's fine. You've obviously got things to discuss."

Dempsey was running his hands through his hair, growling in exasperation. "Harry!"

She stood facing him, her back to Juliette so only he was privy to the sly grin that adorned her face.

"I'll speak to you tomorrow, James."

"Yeah, okay, thanks for that," he told her sarcastically but he leaned in to a momentary embrace all the same as they exchanged a brief and deliberately casual kiss.

"You got everythin' you need?" he murmured intimately.

She nodded, whispering, "almost."

"Sorry, baby," he grimaced, "I'll sort this thing out, I promise."

"It's not a problem. Really, don't worry," she smiled and turned to go.

"Bye, Harry," Juliette simpered. "It was lovely to meet you. I'm sure we'll see each other again whilst I'm here."

"Yes, we'll have to arrange something," Harry felt it necessary to add although she doubted very much that Dempsey would allow that to happen.

Juliette's lipstick, she noticed, was the exact same shade of fushia pink as the floral pattern in her tight fitting shift dress which in turn matched her glossy leather stilletos. She was quite a striking woman with her waves of lustrous brown hair and bright green eyes although the hair was dyed and the eyes, Harry suspected were enhanced by contact lenses. But never-the-less, a striking woman.

At the foot of the stairs she spoke to Jack.

"Nice to finally meet you, Jack. See you again soon."

She tried to convey a message of sympathy in her smile. He wasn't comfortable with this situation, with his parent's relationship, nor with her being there most probably.

"Yeah. See you," he replied diffidently.

Poor boy. She wished she could tell him not to worry as she had told Dempsey and that he'd be better off giving them a wide berth whilst they sorted things out. Instead, she patted her hand against his upper arm and said goodbye.

As Harry stepped out into the heat of a sweet smelling August afternoon, it occurred to her that there was a family now residing within the walls of this house.

The front door closed firmly behind her.

Was she doing the right thing in leaving or was she effectively shutting herself out?


	103. Chapter 103

**Yes, I know, it's been a long tme since the last update. I'm blaming the fact that Glynis Barber has signed up to Twitter and I relented and finally signed up so I can follow her. Now I just can't keep away!**

**To make up for it though, I promise to post another chapter this weekend.**

Chapter 103

"So that was the fabled Harry Makepeace," said Juliette, musefully.

Dempsey ignored her, turning his attention to Jack instead.

"Let's get this case upstairs," he said, taking hold of the top handle and hoisting it up as he ascended the staircase. "Then you can unpack and get yourself settled in, okay son?"

"Told her it was a really bad idea." He scowled at his mother who passed off the remark with a shrug of her shoulders. "She wouldn't let me tell you."

"Not your problem, buddy. Rock and a hard place, huh?"

Juliette picked up her handbag from atop her own suitcase and watched them climb the stairs.

"You two! What's the big deal anyway?"

Then she tapped her way down the hall in search of the kitchen and a kettle.

"Make us that coffee shall I? Then I need to 'freshen up' as they say. We've been travelling all day and I must look a right state."

She raised her voice as she entered the kitchen to make sure she could still be heard. "God knows what Harry thought."

At the head of the stairs, Dempsey took a deep, cleansing breath, refusing to be provoked.

"So how's it been goin'?" he asked his son as he determined to give him his full attention.

Once in Jack's bedroom, they chatted for a while, Dempsey asking how the exams had gone, what he and his friends had been up to and what he wanted to do whilst he was in London this time.

But eventually, Jack had to ask, "What are you going to do about Mum?"

Dempsey sighed, hunching forward on the edge of the bed with his hands between his knees.

"I don't know. What do you want me to do about Mom?"

"Harry's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she's…" he grinned, thinking what a strangely inappropriate term that sounded, "… she is."

"She seems nice."

"I think so."

"So when we were on the 'phone last week and you said you'd got some news, did you mean about Harry?"

He hesitated just long enough for Jack to notice.

"Is she going to move in?" he guessed.

Dempsey decided to run with that for the time being - now wasn't the time for the conversation about his new sister.

"Maybe… least, I'm hopin'."

"S'ppose you don't really need Mum around then."

Dempsey chuckled. "I would say that's a very mature observation for a rug-rat, only I don't wanna sound patronizing."

Jack laughed. "I'll pretend like I didn't hear it then."

He piled some t-shirts into a drawer. "It's alright if she stops tonight though, isn't it?"

"Sure," Dempsey conceded. "Besides, I'm s'pposed to be workin' tonight so she can keep you company while I'm gone."

Grinning, Jack said, "I'll spend the time wisely… Googling local hotels."

"You don't think I should have her stay here? You don't think I'm bein' unreasonable?"

"She wasn't invited, Dad and she didn't tell you she was coming."

Dempsey fidgeted with his rolled up shirt sleeve. "Maybe if I'd mentioned Harry to you before, Mom woulda got the picture and stayed home."

"Doubt it."

Dempsey laughed at his quick-fire response. It was true, she probably would still have come with Jack but at least she wouldn't have been expecting him to provide her accommodation.

It was then a slightly disturbing thought occurred to him.

How're things goin' with your Mom and Nathan these days?" he asked lightly.

It seemed Jack had half expected that question to crop up. "She binned him off a couple of weeks ago."

_Now why doesn't that surprise me? _thought Dempsey. Juliette at a loose end was a worrying concept.

"Thought she was happy with the guy."

Jack shrugged. "Dunno. She said he was boring."

"Boring, huh?"

"Oh and she also said he didn't give her any breathing space."

"Is that so?"

That was Juliette all over; kept chipping away 'til she got what she wanted and then when she had it, she still wasn't satisfied. One of her biggest gripes in their relationship had been over Dempsey's unsocial working hours both with Society Security and the band work, the latter, in her view, a pure indulgence anyway. Yes, to some extent it was a hobby – an outlet, but he took it seriously and to those he played with it was usually their main source of income. Juliette could never understand why, with so much money in the bank, he couldn't lavish all his attention upon her.

At the right venue, Juliette would occasionally be there, not to support him but to bask in the reflected glory and wallow in the attention she received hanging off his arm. At such times she was proud of Dempsey and if he was honest with himself, having an attractive, younger woman around to 'claim' him as her own was an ego boost. But it was just a front of course; Juliette simply craved attention and social standing, neither of which, towards the end, he was prepared to give her.

How ironic then that all of a sudden, the apparently smitten Nathan was a suffocating bore.

"I thought he was okay," Jack said casually, "you know, as they go."

Dempsey laughed. "Well, you know Mom, what she wants is a challenge. That's why she put up with me for so long."

Throwing two pairs of trainers into the bottom of the wardrobe, Jack said hesitantly, "Think she misses you… a bit… kind of. She still talks about you all the time anyway."

"My guess is, not in a good way. Am I right?"

Jack grinned. "Yeah, but still, it doesn't mean she doesn't miss you."

"Neither does it mean we should be within a two hundred mile radius of each other, you know what I mean?"

"S'ppose," Jack answered dolefully.

Dempsey watched him a moment as he continued to unpack.

"You ain't tellin' me you miss listenin' to all that tension snappin', the heated discussions, the stoney silences?"

"Course not, it's just…"

Jack dropped a can of Lynx deodorant on the bed and Dempsey immediately whipped it up, shaking his head despondently. "You're still smotherin' yourself in this stuff?"

It was a long-standing joke that the three of them fostered – the crippling intensity of the smell that was produced by Jack's over-enthusiastic application. But it was clearly a teenaged boy phenomenon because all his friends seemed to douse themselves just as liberally.

"You know," laughed Dempsey, "just 'cause the t.v ads say it'll make you into a babe magnet don't make it so."

"Hey dude," Jack drawled, mimicking his father's accent, "I'm splittin' my sides here."

Dempsey tossed the can at him with a humorous growl.

"So what was it you were gonna say? It's just… what?"

Jack busied himself unzipping the internal pocket of the suitcase, not looking at him.

"Sometimes wish you were still at home, that's all. S'ppose I miss you too."

For a moment, Dempsey just stood and stared. Then he quickly stepped around the bed and made a grab for him.

"Ah, pal." He held onto him tightly. "Why'd you have to go and say somethin' like that?"

He felt choked. He hadn't expected to hear that from him, hadn't let himself consider it as a serious possibility if he was honest.

His chin pressed down hard on the top of Jack's head and he felt the boy's arms fasten around his back.

"What's goin' on here? You tryin' to bring a tear to your old man's eye, huh, partner?"

He may have left his old life behind but where did that leave Jack?


	104. Chapter 104

**Second chapter of the weekend as I haven't posted for a couple of weeks. When I found this song, I actually laughed out loud because it's so unbelieveably perfect. I'd never even heard of it until 17th June but it just seems to tie into the story like it was written for it, even down to the mention of a casino! In my head, I imagine Genie as some rich old lady who frequented La Baraka whilst Dempsey was working there and the soft spot she had for him became a bit of a standing joke. Getting a bit carried away now, aren't I?**

Chapter 104

**James and the Cold Gun**

**Kate Bush1978**

James, come on home.  
You've been gone too long, baby.  
We can't let our hero  
Die alone.

We miss you day and night.  
You left town to live by the rifle.  
You left us to fight,  
But it just ain't right to take away the light.

Remember Genie from the casino?  
She's still a-waiting in that big brass bed.  
The boys from your gang are knocking whisky back,  
'Til they get out of hand and wish they were dead.  
They're only lonely for the life that they led  
With their old friend.

Ooh, James, are you selling your soul to a cold gun?  
Selling your soul to a  
Ooh, James, are you selling your soul to a cold gun?

Where lies your heart?  
It's not there in the buckskin, baby.  
It's not there in the gin  
That makes you laugh long and loud.

You're a coward, James.  
You're running away from humanity.  
You're running away from reality.  
It won't be funny when they rat-a-tat-tat you down.

Remember Genie from the casino?  
She's still a-waiting in that big brass bed.  
The boys from your gang are knocking whisky back,  
'Til they get out of hand and wish they were dead.  
They're only lonely for the life that they led  
With their old friend.

Ooh, James, are you selling your soul to a cold gun?  
Selling your soul to a  
Ooh, James, are you selling your soul to a cold gun?

* * *

Juliette was browsing unashamedly through the pile of paperwork on the kitchen table as she sat with her cup of coffee.

"You've certainly been hammering the old credit card lately," she commented as she perused the July statement.

Dempsey calmly removed it from her hands.

"And they say staying in is the new going out," she added.

"That one must of passed me by."

"Definitely, I'd say, judging by the amount of restaurants you've been frequenting. Eating out two, sometimes three times a week… really Jim, I'm amazed you find the time."

She reached out then and patted his stomach.

"Careful it doesn't start to show."

"Don't worry about me on that score."

"Still like a good… " Juliette smiled rather unpleasantly, "… workout? I'm sure you do. I just hope Harry appreciates it."

He sighed and took the chair next to her, picking up the coffee she had made him.

"Jack thinks you should stay tonight. You can look for a hotel tomorrow, okay?"

She had obviously seen this as a forgone conclusion because she went straight on to ask, "So did she find you or did you find her?"

"I looked her up a couple months or so ago," he told her grudgingly.

"Oh!"

She sounded surprised and he instantly knew he had made a mistake in telling her it was such a recent event. 'Only a few weeks then really', he could hear her thinking.

"You're a devil for punishment," she said instead. "You had a nervous breakdown because of that woman. Why the hell would you want anything to do with her now?"

He'd known this was coming and it aggravated him that she felt he needed to explain himself to her.

"It wasn't a nervous breakdown," he rumbled. "And don't lecture me, Juliette 'cause you know nothing about it… you might think you do but believe me, you really don't," he told her quietly, "

She watched him over the rim of her cup.

"I think I have all the salient facts," she smiled. "What you never told me, Julius did."

"He told you what I thought was the truth at the time. There was a lot of other stuff going on that I didn't know about.," he said stiffly. "If I had, things might've been different."

Juliette's smile became somewhat fixed. "What sort of 'stuff''?"

"Harry had some pretty serious reasons for shutting me out of her life, that's all."

"Well, go on," said Juliette after a short silence. "I'd love to hear them. Daddy threatened to cut her out of the will, I'm betting. Was she going to lose the Lady Muck title?"

"Not funny," he said tonelessly.

"I know, neither is a nervous breakdown I should imagine.

Juliette reached out, putting both hands on his forearm. "Jimmy, what are you playing at? She shouldn't be allowed within a hundred mile radius of you, let alone…" her voice had risen and she checked herself, "… let alone whatever the set-up is with her now."

"Thanks for your concern, honey but you really need to back off from this one. My life is goin' great right now and I don't want anythin' turnin' sour 'cause of you."

"Me?" Juliette baulked, genuinely wounded by his words. "I just want you to be happy and from what I've gathered, Harry Makepeace is the last woman on earth capable of making you happy."

She slid one hand along his forearm, closing her fingers around his clenched fist. "I don't want her to hurt you again, Jimmy."

Dempsey allowed himself a small smile. "Believe me, Harry is the last woman on earth who would."

"Don't tell me – she's changed, things are different this time and you're swallowing it all, hook, line and sinker," she sneered even as her hand gently massaged his knuckles.

"It was never like that. She deliberately gave me the wrong idea. I thought she didn't care enough when really, she cared maybe too much."

"How?" Juliette demanded. "How can you care about someone too much? You're only fooling yourself by thinking like that. She wrecked your life once, who's to say she won't do it again?"

Juliette spoke calmly and reasonably although from years of practice, Dempsey could pick out the salty sting that rimed those full, pink lips. Even so, he couldn't deny the concern that radiated from her caress.

"Harry saved my life."

Smiling indulgently, Juliette was about to jump in before he continued, "The court case that was goin' on at the time…"

She nodded, confirming she recalled his recounting of the story. "What about it?"

"… when I left England, the guy I shoulda been testifying against saw it as runnin' out on him – welshing on the deal. Apparently, he'd expected to keep me on the back-burner, his pet copper. He told Harry she'd have to take my place and when she refused, him and his goons…"

He gazed down at Juliette's soothing hands, familiar as his own, the long painted nails rasping deliciously through the dark hair along his forearm.

He exhaled softly.

"They paid her a home visit… they… hurt her… used a knife on her."

Juliette's grip tightened. "Oh my God," she shivered. "D'you mean they…"

She didn't know Harry, didn't want to know Harry and even actively disliked the woman but the idea of such a violent invasion against another female was abhorrent.

"He'd wanted to see her more frightened than she'd ever been in her life. Think he probably got off on that more than if he'd watched them actually rape her."

"So they didn't," Juliette confirmed, knowing her tone made her come across as callous and insensitive but she couldn't help herself. It was almost a relief; she didn't need to feel sorry for her, she'd just been roughed up a bit and threatened. Harry Makepeace had been a policewoman so surely something like that would have been par for the course anyway wouldn't it? But what it came down to it, what she couldn't bear was Jim's compassion, however hard that made her look.

But knowing she should be expressing some kind of sympathy she added quickly, "Still must've been terrible though, really terrible."

She squeezed the back of his hand and was pleasantly surprised when his right hand came up to encase hers.

"Yeah," he breathed, "I guess it was. He told her if she didn't want anything to do with him then the same had to apply to me and if I showed up again on English soil, neither of us would live to regret it."

He couldn't tell her about his daughter; Harry's presence had upset her enough already. He'd given Jack no inkling – had wanted to explain everything to him in person so there was no way Juliette could have known he was involved with anybody, let alone _The Fabled Harry Makepeace_ as she had put it.

"So she told you she'd met somebody else to make you stay away."

"That's about the size of it. And of course, it just confirmed what I'd thought all along, that she'd never meant for it to get that serious between us 'cause I wasn't the kinda guy she needed to be mixin' with."

Why was he telling her all this she wondered? It felt uncomfortable, painful even. Didn't he realise why she had come with Jack to London? Was Jim being deliberately stupid? Naturally, she had assumed he'd be seeing someone, just a casual thing unworthy of mention in his weekly telephone conversations with Jack but this, this was something she could never have seen coming and the implications were just starting to sink in.

"Is she the reason you came to London?" She thought she already knew the answer to that if she was truthful.

"It was time to make a fresh start, Jules," he answered diplomatically. "I couldn't just move out again, I had to move away."

"Did you know she was still in London though?" Juliette pushed.

"She could of been in Timbuktu for all I knew."

"So you just decided to look her up as you were here."

"Pretty much, yeah."

But Juliette knew him better than that. He was being evasive and there was too much buoyancy in his tone. Harry had been on his mind long before he left Jersey. Maybe he'd been planning it; his escape, the search for his lost love. How many months or even years had this been on his mind? She didn't doubt now where his thoughts had been all those times they had fought and argued. Now she understood what the bitter rows and days of mournful silences had been about. In the early days, she registered his occasional references to her as tiny, unpleasant pin-pricks. She had got Julius to fill in the blanks rather than Jim because the pin-pricks hurt and to some extent, she felt she had an ally in Julius. She had gleaned the necessary information and filed it away, to be reviewed whenever mention of his time in London was made. She had never quite managed to work out why he didn't hate Harry Makepeace. According to Julius she had left him a broken man but still he apportioned no blame to her, citing only 'circumstances' as the reason for his breakdown.

Juliette suddenly felt used. If Jim had come full circle, didn't that mean that she had merely been the tracks that had carried him back to the train station?

She wanted to ask, _Do you love her? Does she love you?_ but she didn't want to hear his answer.

She straightened up and looked him in the face as she lightly primped the hair at his collar.

"And now I'm looking _you _up," she smiled. "Can't believe how long it's been already."

"Gotta be ten months."

"You know, it still seems strange sometimes – you not being around."

She kept her voice conversational. Safe and friendly. And she kept the tears from her eyes even though the poisonous brew of jealousy, frustration, anger and love swirled painfully within her chest.

Suddenly Dempsey sat back, pulling his hands away. "D'you see anythin' of Ray and Leena these days? We kinda lost touch 'cept for a few emails last Christmas time."

Juliette looked up to see Jack padding across the kitchen toward them, dressed now in shorts and with his feet bare.

"This is mine, yeah?" he asked, picking up the spare coffee and noticing the way his parents seemed to have quickly pulled apart on his approach.

"You get it all unpacked, sweetheart?" Juliette asked warmly.

"Yeah. Have we got any biscuits, Dad? I'm starving."

Dempsey thumbed over his shoulder. "In the cupboard, Pal. Help yourself. We were on the way out to the supermarket when you got here so there ain't much in the way of junk food."

"Well, why don't we go now?" Juliette asked, taking up her coffee and drinking down the last mouthful as she stood up.

"Nah, it's okay. I'll take Jack tomorrow. The last thing either of you two needs is to spend the afternoon shoppin' for groceries."

Jack came back to the table with an opened packet of ginger nuts and slid into a chair.

"So why don't I take your case upstairs and you can freshen up like you planned," he asked Juliette.

He reached over and stole a ginger nut before getting to his feet. "Like I was tellin' Jack, I'm workin' tonight at the bar so I can rustle you up an omelette or somethin' now or you could order take-out food later."

"You're working?" Juliette exclaimed. "Jimmy!"

But then quickly reining herself in, she covered her annoyance by saying, "In that case, why don't the three of us go out for a meal this afternoon?"

Before Dempsey had chance to work out a reason for 'the three of us' not going out to eat, Jack said, "Cool! I could really go steak and chips. Can we, Dad?"

She was only staying for one night and it would be good to hear what was going on back on Jersey.

"Ready to go in an hour?" he asked them.


	105. Chapter 105

**Big thanks to everyone who has been reviewing but I seriously need more! If you're still following the story, please leave me a few words just to let me know it isn't all in vain. If I don't get enough reviews I may consider taking drastic action and have Juliette take a knife to Harry's throat! Just think, you might be holding Harry's life in your hands!**

Chapter 105

"But I'm not you, am I?" said Harry.

Wine from the newly opened bottle made a satisfying glugging sound as Angela topped up Carole's glass.

"It was a lady-like departure," Carole pointed out.

Harry sipped from her glass. "And I'm nothing if not lady-like," she said, holding the flat of her hand up to reinforce that point.

"That, my dear Harriet, is a wonderful truism," Angela slurred a little and the three women laughed with the vigour that only intoxication could instil.

They had been sitting in Angela's garden since the early evening. It was still warm even now at 10:00pm so they hadn't had to consider moving indoors. The table was covered by the near-empty plates of canapés that Angela had made for them; goat's cheese and jalapeno blinis, anchovy and black olive crostini, prawn and sweetcorn fritters with chilli dip and an array of 'posh' crisps and other snacks. The 'centre-piece' consisted of four wine bottles; three empty and the fourth one which had just been opened.

"Anyway," Carole continued, "what else could she have done, in all honesty? At least by bowing out with dignity Harry was letting this Juliette woman know that she knows she has nothing to worry about as far as James is concerned."

Angela made a '_hhmph_' sound. "James is a man, darling, and there's always something to worry about with them."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence, Angela," Harry said sweetly.

"Oh, you know I didn't mean it, he only has eyes for you."

Carole, who had met Dempsey for the first time the week before at a barbeque she had given was quick to confirm it.

"I swear every time he looked at you he went into soft focus!"

Harry laughed and brought her hand up to her mouth as wine threatened to spill out.

But then it seemed to pass through her again, the cold, hard fact that Dempsey's ex-partner, his long-term lover had just shown up out of the blue.

"It's not just about him though is it? I got the impression she can be quite… manipulative when she wants to be."

"So what?" shrilled Angela. "He left her! He gave up everything to be with you even though he had no idea whether or not you'd feel the same way as him. Have you got any idea at all how bloody romantic that is?"

"Yeah, or mind-numbingly stupid," Harry scoffed. "And besides, they apparently split up countless times and every time he went back to her again. Supposing she's come to London just to fetch him back."

Carole wrinkled her nose dismissively. "So what if she has? James has made his choice. He isn't suddenly going to change his mind now is he?"

They spent another twenty minutes trying to persuade Harry that she had nothing to worry about. It was much easier to believe whilst in their company and when the wine was flowing freely but they hadn't met Juliette, had they? She was larger than life, vivacious and attractive and it seemed to Harry, an extremely good match, despite (or because of) the even greater age difference than between she and James. Yes, they used to have terrible rows according to him but didn't they row too? Something had kept James going back to her for seventeen years and that surely wasn't just Jack. If there was still something between them, where did that leave Harry? They'd spent little more than two months together and before that, twenty-three years – count them – twenty-three years earlier, their three year working partnership had evolved into a relationship spanning just ten short months.

What was she supposed to do? Every instinct told her to fight for Dempsey if that was what was required but she wasn't some teenaged girl, was she? She was a grown woman and far too old to become embroiled in angst-ridden power play. And anyway, it was simple enough; Dempsey either wanted to be with her or he didn't, regardless of whether or not his ex was showing an interest again. If he had to think about what he wanted then that would be proof enough that she was making a mistake in being with him.

There! How much easier could it be? All she had to do was sit back and wait.

So why was she trembling inside?

"I had a boyfriend once… yeeears ago this was," Carole reminisced, nearly spilling her wine as she swung the glass up on the 'yeeears'. Her short, blonde, 'big' hair flopped down into her eye and she swung her head back to move it. "I found out he was having a bit on the side with his ex-wife so I did that old trick of putting laxatives in his food."

"Eeugh!" Harry screwed her face up. "I hope you were eating at his place. I wouldn't want to be cleaning the bathroom afterwards."

"It started off at his place but it finished up in accident and emergency."

Angela burst out laughing. "No!" she marvelled.

"You certainly don't do things by halves, do you darling?" Harry joined in.

"He was in a really bad way; I mean, _really_ bad." The other two giggled and drunkenly she shushed them. "No... no... I mean it. _Really _bad. I had to confess what I'd done and the bloody hospital staff were actually encouraging him to press charges!"

Carole pushed her hair back into place with her hand, enjoying the effect her little anecdote was having on her friends as they howled with laughter.

"I'm sure it must've been horribly embarrassing," said Angela delightedly.

"Oh no, it went way past embarrassing… it was frightening! I'd thought it was going to be death by Dulcolax!"

Harry and Angela were comically horrified, groaning in appalled revulsion.

Just then, an electronic melody began to play.

"Is that me?" Angela asked, scrabbling in her handbag.

Harry wrenched her own bag from under the table. "No, I think it's me," she said, pulling out her mobile.

Carole and Angela regarded her expectantly.

"Is it James?" Carole asked.

Harry nodded, rising to her feet and starting to move away.

Angela '_hhmphed_' again. "I should bloody well think so," she said, making Harry smile as she took the call.

"Hello," she said imperiously, eyeing her friends with a grimace before turning towards the French doors and the privacy of Angela's living room.

The sound of James' voice brought a soothing but brief relief.

"Hello," he replied, inflecting his mirror response with a note of humour. "How are you?"

She could hear music playing in the background and the buzz of conversation and knew he was at the bar.

"I wasn't expecting to hear from you tonight. Thought you were ringing in the morning."

Dempsey almost wanted to laugh - her drunken high and mighty tone was so endearing and in his minds eye he could see her lip hooking at the corner.

"Where are you?" he asked. "Still at Angela's?"

She often spent the evening round at Angela's house when he was working but was usually home by 9:30pm. Tonight though, he had guessed they would be sinking a bottle or two of red.

"Still at Angela's," she confirmed.

Then she heard him sigh.

"I'm sorry, Harry… 'bout Juliette."

"S'ppose it wasn't really your fault," she let him off. "You didn't know she was coming." Then she asked lightly, "Has she gone?"

There followed a painful silence and Harry knew she wouldn't appreciate his next words.

"She's stayin' tonight… just the one night."

His pleading tone didn't cut any ice.

"Dempsey!" she cried but then felt an instant twinge of guilt. She couldn't trust him – was that what she was saying? Even with Jack there with them?

"Fine!" and then more calmly repeated, "It's fine."

"That was the bad news."

She still didn't like his tone.

"And the _really_ bad news?"

"Whadya mean?" he asked innocently.

"You know exactly what I mean," she snipped. "In fact, it worries me sometimes… how well I know you."

"It worries me too, Princess, believe you, me "

"So?"

And then it hit her.

"She's moving, isn't she? She's moving to London."

Dempsey drew a breath and then let it explode outwards in a single, slightly frazzled "No!" He chuckled, raggedly. "Nothin' like that."

"Just the edited highlights will do, Dempsey."

"Promise you ain't gonna get mad at me."

This wasn't going well Harry decided.

"Just tell me what's happened."

"We went out to get somethin' to eat this afternoon," he began, "the three of us."

Okay, there was that '_the three of us_' expression again but at least it told Harry that Jack had been there too.

"Apparently after the visit last Christmas, Jack mentioned to Juliette about the apartment space over the bar…"

"And now you've got her staying there for the duration," Harry finished sharply. or at least as sharply as the alcohol would allow.

"What was I s'pposed to do?" he cried. "Least she isn't at the house."

"You couldn't have said no, of course."

"It was Jack's suggestion; it was awkward, I couldn't think of an excuse fast enough."

Two weeks of Juliette hanging around like a bad smell right under her nose! She had purple visions of her insisting on joining in with Dempsey's plans for Jack, forcing Harry to bow out gracefully and she had no clue as to how Dempsey would go about handling that. As it was, he'd already given into her twice over, letting her stop the night and then giving her the flat over the bar to use for God knew how long.

"Well it's done now," Harry said loftily.

"I made it clear she's on her own. This is my two weeks to spend with Jack, not her."

Somehow, Harry knew that making things clear wasn't going to make a difference to Juliette's way of thinking.

"Hey!" Dempsey prompted when she didn't answer. "On a scale of one to ten, how screwed am I?"

"Don't ask me, James, she's your problem, not mine."

"I mean how screwed am I with you?"

"Royally," she answered loudly and without hesitation.


	106. Chapter 106

Chapter 106

It was warm and muggy; the sort of heat that caused the air to throb along with the backs of your eyeballs.

At one fifteen in the morning Dempsey quietly let himself in.

Although dog-tired, he knew sleep would evade him until he'd had time to wind down and so rather than heading straight up to bed he made his way to the kitchen.

On the car trip home he'd had time to reflect on how he'd managed to upset Harry. She was unhappy with the situation – understandably. He'd made a mistake, just shifted the problem of Juliette from one location to another. Stupid! And it wasn't only about Juliette. He realised it was difficult for Jack to fully grasp the machinations of his parent's relationship. He couldn't see why they had to have distance between them and how it was they crippled each other's spirit and ground each other down. To Jack it was quite simple – because they no longer lived together there should be no problem with them being friends.

Light shone dimly from the open kitchen doorway indicating that the under-unit lighting had been left on.

He pushed the door open and made straight for the refrigerator over by the window. A coolness enveloped his upper body and he leaned up against it for a moment as he viewed the contents.

"Want one of these?"

He experienced a momentary twinge of surprise as he turned sharply to catch Juliette standing watching him from her position at the apex of the corner cupboards.

In shadowy relief, she held up a bottle of Budweiser in her right hand and he noticed the half finished one that she had in her other, resting behind her on the work surface.

He also saw the short, silky chemise she wore under the open matching robe.

"I expect it was a busy night," she said casually as she strolled across to hand him a bottle, "being Friday."

"You're still up," he answered unnecessarily.

"Well, you never could get to sleep for ages after a gig so I thought I'd keep you company while you drank your beer."

It was kind of a routine. He'd get home in the early hours after a gig and drink two beers before turning in. Back on Jersey, he might only have been playing a handful of times in a month but those two beers would always beckon afterwards.

Dempsey accepted the offering and let the refrigerator door swing shut. The kitchen instantly dimmed and Juliette retreated back to her corner.

"Thanks," he said, putting the ice cold bottle to his mouth.

Condensation ran through his fingers and he deduced that she must have taken it from the fridge only minutes before. She had been listening out for his return.

"Was it a good night?" she wanted to know.

"Yeah. Packed."

He watched moisture drip down the front of her chemise as she drank from her bottle. It was absorbed instantly by the thin fabric to leave three large, dark patches which she brushed at ineffectually – or very effectively, depending on her exact intentions as the action caused her half exposed breasts to jiggle quite eye-catchingly.

"You won't mind if I spend some time in the bar tomorrow will you? I'd like to say hello to Julius if he's going to be around."

"He's expectin' you… says to tell you 'hi'."

Juliette leaned back on the counter top, smiling.

"One person then who can at least pretend they're happy to see me."

"Hey, I'm happy to see you, just that prior notice woulda worked better for me."

"Fore-warned is fore-armed?"

He raised his beer to her with a grin. "Somethin' like that, yeah."

"Haven't you missed me at all, Jimmy? Not even a little bit?" she coaxed.

Dempsey drained the bottle and turned back to the fridge for his second.

"Sure; I've been like a fish without chips!" he quipped. He reached for another bottle. "Only this fish is quite happy to be swimmin' around in The Thames River 'stead of bein' battered an' fried on Jersey."

"Please don't try to spare my feelings, just say what you think," she said sarcastically and he was reminded instantly of Harry.

"I'm only kiddin' around, honey… you want another?" he asked, indicating the section of the refrigerator allotted to his Buds.

Leaving her empty bottle on the side, Juliette nodded and armed with the bottle opener she had used earlier, sauntered over to collect the new one.

"So if you're 'only kidding around', that means you haven't really answered the question yet."

She stood close beside him as she uncapped their beers, her breast nudging against his forearm as she turned towards him.

"It's okay, I won't tell," she chided softly.

"Like I said," he stood his ground, not wanting to acknowledge her proximity, "I'm happy. Got no reason to be lookin' back."

Juliette sighed. "She's certainly worked her magic on you, hasn't she?"

He just shrugged, chuckling.

Unhooking her forefinger from around the neck of the bottle, she poked him gently between the ribs. "That used to be my job."

He wanted to say that Harry had _always_ been working her magic. Down through the years she had continued to draw his thoughts and feelings towards her in an almost ethereal fashion. But that would be cruel and unnecessary because nobody deserved to have something like that thrown in their face.

Instead, he smiled and said, "You just hit the nail on the head right there – it was a job. Us bein' together was too much like hard work, babe."

"Worth the effort sometimes though." The forefinger stroked leisurely up and down his sternum. "You have to admit that."

"Hey, I'm admitting nothin'," he grinned.

Yeah, she was making a play for him and he was letting her. It was a male ego thing, he knew but he couldn't help feeling flattered in a nonsensical sort of a way. Nice to be wanted – nice to have the option here in front of him.

"I enjoyed today… this afternoon. It was great being a family again," she said wistfully.

Dempsey, albeit reluctantly, had to agree. "Yeah, it was 'though I think we both know it was just a Kodak moment, Jules."

"So cynical!"

"Were you expectin' somethin' else?"

"I suppose I was _hoping_ for a bit more enthusiasm." Juliette's fushia painted nail rose to score lightly along the hollow of his throat. "Would that be too much to ask?"

She was leaning up against him now, her chest pushing against his.

"Enthusiasm!" Dempsey let his head drift to the left as he nodded, smiling vaguely at the notion. "That boat sailed, babe. If you want enthusiasm, better get yourself a puppy."

"I did," she sighed. "His name was Nathan." Her hand moved to smooth over his shoulder. "I think what I need is a big old dog with a bit of bite." Her eyes were sparkling.

Before he had chance to reply though Juliette moved away grinning and took another swig from her bottle of Budweiser.

"So what time do you want me out tomorrow?"

Dempsey didn't protest her phraseology.

"Ten?"

"Will I get a lift or do you completely wash your hands of me at ten on the dot?"

"You wanna ride, I guess I can manage that," he played along.

Juliette's pink lips rounded into an 'O'. "Now that sounds like an offer I can't refuse, Jimmy. And there was me thinking you just weren't interested."

After a few moments Dempsey broke the eye contact. "Think I'm gonna turn in."

He quickly finished his beer and handed her the empty bottle. "Thanks. Night Juliette."

Juliette said nothing but the smirk on her face said it all as she watched him go.

* * *

By the time Dempsey reached his bedroom, a broad smile had fixed itself firmly in place.

Jeez, she must be crazy! Did she think he would want to start things up again after all this time? What, was he just gonna leave this new life he'd made here in London to go drag his ass back to Jersey?

Dum broad!

Suddenly, the amusement flicked over to annoyance and he slammed angrily through the bedroom door, muttering random and unintelligible thoughts as he stripped out of his clothing.

He'd moved on; he wasn't gonna be suckered into gettin' back with her again this time. If she thought the way to a man's heart was through his dick she could think again! Not this man! At least, not this time.

He frowned hard as he yanked open the door to the balcony, inhaling the marginally cooler night air.

He shouldn't let her get to him. The frown deepened. Because she was, wasn't she? She was getting to him in every sense of the word.

"Shit!"

He ripped back the bed cover and threw himself down savagely.

Was he tempted? Seriously?

He turned onto his side, glowering into the gossamer grey of the darkened room.

He'd _told_ Harry not to go.

After five minutes he flopped over onto his back, still wide awake, irritation embedded too deeply to allow sleep to come.

The moment the door handle turned, Dempsey was alert to the sound and sat bolt upright. Let's face it he'd been half expecting it anyway.

"I'm tryin' to sleep here," he huffed. "What's the problem?"

Juliette's silhouette sashayed provocatively across the room and without a word, she climbed in beside him.

"What the hell are you doin'?" he demanded. "Juliette, get outa here!"

She propped herself up on her elbow and looked up at him suggestively.

"I don't think you mean that, not really."

"Yeah, I do… really. This ain't right."

Juliette reached out for him, running the palm of her hand along his bare chest.

"I don't see why. It isn't like we haven't _done it_ before." The hand went up to crawl through the back of his hair. "… hundreds of times."

She wriggled herself up so that both her hands were now laced behind his neck and he was dragged closer by her weight. "Hundreds and hundreds," she whispered into his ear.

Dempsey made to pull her hands away but she clung on.

"But not this time, okay?" he said with all the conviction he could muster.

"Awww," Juliette wheedled, "not even for old times' sake? Let's call it a one-off. Nobody would know, would they?"

Her lips sought out Dempsey's with urgency in the cloying darkness, "… if that's what's bothering you."


	107. Chapter 107

**Sorry this chapter has taken so long - I'm on holiday this week in Dorset so it's a miracle I managed it at all. ****Thank you so much for the feedback on the last chapter - more reviews than any other chapter which I assume means that people are quite incensed by Dempsey's 'predicament'.**

**Will he or won't he?**

Chapter 107

Every tiny sound seemed magnified to Dempsey's ears; limbs sliding across cotton, across silk, across skin, the gentle shushing creak of the mattress under them, the soft, moist click of saliva, the harsh fractured breath emitted through mouth and nostrils. And strangely, time had disappeared. Where it had once been there remained only a dark void… no, not a void because he could sense its boundaries as though they were somehow locked inside a kind of cube of indeterminate size.

She rolled over him, pressed him down, straddled him with her torso pushed hard against him and when her long, fragrant hair cascaded around his head, he suddenly began to suffocate.

Dempsey's grip on her tightened so that rather than holding Juliette he was forcing her away. He felt a pulsing panic surge hotly through his body and the unexpected shock of it had him scrabbling away from her, grunting with the effort.

For a second, she didn't seem to get it, assuming he only wanted to change positions and so sliding her body alongside his, she blocked his roll from the bed.

This was evoking some disturbing memories for Dempsey. He remembered experiencing feelings like these before, this desperate need to end such an encounter. Here he was, in bed with an undeniably attractive woman who quite clearly had every intention of having her evil way with him and yet every ounce of desire had just drained away. Years ago; NYC and those dark days when he had used booze and flesh to escape the terrible pain of love and the horrific realisation that the willing and compliant body floating beneath him in the haze was never going to be what he needed.

Time began to tick again and in his head he commenced counting: twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… It had been eleven seconds, that was all, eleven seconds of stirred blood and dampened flesh with someone who felt wrong, smelt wrong and tasted wrong simply because she wasn't Harry.

"No!" he yelled, making Juliette flinch even as her leg hooked over his hip and her hand slid to his groin. "Me and you are over. Don't you understand what it is I'm sayin' to you?"

Juliette appeared truly stunned for an instant and then with a look of puzzlement, unfastened herself from him.

"Are you being serious?" she asked. "Are you kicking me out of bed?"

"Finally, she gets it!"

"No – I don't," she half laughed. "It's just a shag Jim! It's just us. We've lived together for years… our son is in bed down the hall," she pointed towards the door but didn't look away from him, "what's wrong with us having a bit of fun?"

Dempsey was out of bed and had the bedside light on, standing with his feet apart and staring down at her angrily.

"Because we're done! When I left it was the end of the road and that means no more make up sex."

"But we've always been so good at it!" she exclaimed with a delighted laugh.

"Yeah, so what does that tell ya?" Dempsey shouted back, exasperated by her blasé attitude.

Juliette's eyes flashed as she said shamelessly, "That you need to get back into bed." She patted the space he had vacated beside her.

Dempsey's hands flew to the back of his head and he scrubbed through his hair with a frustrated howl.

"I can't believe I'm hearin' this! I'm back with Harry for cryin' out loud!"

At mention of Harry, Juliette's smile turned into a formidably saccharine sneer.

"Back with her… makes it sound like it was only yesterday, love, not twenty odd bloody years ago! I'll give it another month, tops. Ever heard that expression, 'let sleeping _dogs_ lie'?"

She cocked her head, waiting for him to digest the inference.

"You know," he ground, "I've never managed to work out at what point it was you changed from bein' Juliette to super-bitch but whenever it was I guess I was really caught nappin', huh?"

Juliette scowled, her neck thrusting out as she yelled, "Oh I can tell you exactly when it was, _Detective _Dempsey; it was the moment I realised I was always going to come a shabby second… to the bloody business, to the late night 'busking' sessions, your dodgy friends at the casino…"

Dempsey stabbed a finger towards her forcefully.

"Yeah and it was 'the bloody business' that put food on the table and Armani on your back, sweetheart… still is for that matter."

"So how come you can suddenly manage to run it without having to be there? How come now you're quite happy to leave Steve Bridgewater in charge?"

"It isn't a question of bein' happy with it," he cried. "Either I turned it over to Steve to run or I sold up."

"You were so desperate to get away?"

Juliette was out of bed now too, her passion having dissipated after his harsh rebuff.

"Yeah!" he answered as though that idea was almost a revelation, "yeah, I guess I was."

"And into the arms of that plummy cow. You had it all worked out, didn't you? Come on, be honest, she's just another on the long list of things I've played second fiddle to, isn't she? Was she the love of your life, Jimmy?" Juliette cooed spitefully. "Is that why you cracked up when she dumped you? Couldn't bear to live without her?"

Dempsey looked away, gritting his teeth. But could he really blame her for this outpouring of vitriol? She drew closer, standing before him in an extremely confrontational manner that Dempsey tried his best to ignore.

"Go on… admit it," she pursued with avarice, "it was always her, she was always 'there' wasn't she? Wasn't she?"

He nodded, causing Juliette to crow triumphantly.

"When we first got together," she began, " I used to talk to Julius about what happened to you… well, tried to talk to him but you know Julius – he's always played your cards very close to his chest."

Slowly, Dempsey met her eyes.

"From what I gathered, you never held her responsible, never blamed her for any of it, did you, even though you didn't know she had a reason for ending it."

"No," he answered so quietly that barely a sound left his lips.

There was silence then and Dempsey thought he could detect a trembling from somewhere deep inside Juliette.

"And it _was _always her?"

He nodded, catching the flare of her nostrils. And he knew he had to give her everything.

"I've got a daughter."

He watched her face change; disbelief widening her eyes and slackening her mouth.

"I didn't know about her… not then," he stumbled over his words, a rarity that sharpened Juliette's senses. "Harry never told me then… 'cause of McKintyre… you know 'bout McKintyre…I told you… "

But it was Juliette who was crumbling - right before his very eyes.

He carried on anyway. "She told me about her a few weeks back…"

The trembling had increased and she was now almost shaking in a rage of agony.

"You'll never come home now, will you?" Her voice was cracked and her eyes watered from within blanched and mottled sockets. "You've got another family. You've got everything you want here."

He knew the explosion was coming, knew he could do nothing to stop it but he tried all the same.

"I've got two kids now is all. Doesn't make a difference to you and Jack."

But that wasn't going to be anywhere near enough to stanch the pain he had caused.

"Why her?"

"What?" he stalled.

"What is it that makes her better than me?"

Her face had become expressionless but her eyes were bloodshot with withheld tears.

"She ain't better than you!" he protested. "Don't try to put words into my mouth."

"Why is she so bloody special?"

When he didn't answer immediately, she snapped, "Come on, I want to know. Is she everything I'm not, Jim, is that what it is? Blonde; petite, posh…" her lip curled, "old?"

He didn't give her any more ammunition by answering that but she wasn't about to let it go.

"God, what an insult, being passed over for an older model. She must think it's hilarious," she pursued.

"Amazingly Juliette, It hasn't been discussed. Age is just a number – isn't that what you always used to tell me?"

"Depends which side of the fence you're on, love."

Juliette's voice had got higher and sharper and there was a childish, petulant edge that told Dempsey just how carefully he should be treading.

"And speaking of age, how old is this other kid of yours now then? All grown up, I assume?"

"Twenty-two," he provided.

Juliette nodded. "And what's she called, this daughter? Penelope, Verity, Tamara?" she quizzed acerbically.

Crisis point.

Dempsey took a breath before answering softly, "Her name's Jamie."

"Oh my God!" Juliette brought a hand up to her mouth to quell the eruption of laughter. "That's so sweet I think I might be sick! Whatever possessed the woman?"

"Well," he shrugged a little, "I guess…"

But Juliette picked up from there. "You guess she was still so in love with you that she gave her baby your name as a tribute. As I said, I could throw up."

The emotion boiled over then and as her hands lashed out she screamed at him, "You make me f*&king sick! You and that holier-than-thou bitch."

Dempsey tried to control her flailing arms whilst attempting to protect himself from her attack on him at the same time.

"You think this is gonna help?"

"I hate you!" she screamed as her fingers clawed at his bare chest.

"Okay, you gotta stop this right now." Dempsey held onto her as best he could without hurting her but she dragged her arms free and beat at him again.

"Or what?" she shrieked. "What will you do, aye? What could you possibly do to make my life any worse?"

He felt the nails of her right hand bite down into his forearm and a streak of pain shot through the broken flesh. He cried out in wounded anger.

"Arrrgh… you crazy bitch! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You… you're wrong with me."

Juliette struggled to free herself from his grip, gasping with the exertion.

"I didn't want it to be like this, Jules. I never wanted to hurt you."

She laughed hysterically. "That's the point though, isn't it – you've always been hurting me, it's just that I didn't really see how you'd been doing it until now."

She stopped fighting against him then, instead leering angrily up into his face.

"It was because _she _was always between us," she spat.

He was unable to hold back any longer. "Nothin' to do with you treatin' me like a piece of shit half the time, runnin' around like a dirty little whore with all those young guys?" he shouted.

"To get some sort of reaction out of you! It was the only way I could get you to show you cared and even then you were more bothered about the effect it would have on Jack."

"I got news for you, sweetheart – wavin' your tail at anythin' that leaks testosterone was never gonna make my heart beat faster."

"I just needed you to show that you loved me, Jim. Was that too much to ask?" she sobbed, her fists hammering home the words against his chest.

"SHUT UP!"

They both turned towards the bedroom door in stunned surprise.

Jack stood in the doorway, his face pale and haunted, his tousled dark hair in his eyes.

"Just shut up, can't you?"

The boy was practically quivering with pent-up emotion.

"I knew this would bloody happen."

And he turned on his heel, slamming the door as hard as he could behind him.

**You didn't really think I'd let Juliette use and abuse Dempsey did you? Not this time anyway. LOL**


	108. Chapter 108

**Second chapter this week! I was inspired by the lovely feedback I've had for the last couple of chapters to write faster. If you haven't reviewed chapter 107 yet though, I hope you will ;-)**

**Not too sure what's going to happen after this chapter so I'll just have to go with the flow I think.**

Chapter 108

Before or after?

Harry couldn't quite decide whether to ring Dempsey before her meeting with her solicitor and Marcia Poole, the owner of Marquise Equestrian or afterwards which would be at a more appropriate ten o'clock.

Maybe she'd been a bit hard on him last night – just a bit. It really wasn't his fault that his ex had turned up with Jack and obviously he'd had to take his son's feelings into consideration. The idea of Juliette being in that flat above the bar though filled her with indignant dread. Even if it was Jack who'd brought up the offer it seemed to Harry that she had been taking the piss by accepting. There was a good chance, Harry decided, that the next couple of weeks would throw up some awkward moments.

But Dempsey had been contrite on the phone last night, apologetic and embarrassed. You can't please all of the people all of the time, she acknowledged and in his position, would she have been able to handle it any better?

She would call him now and try to smooth things over a little. Harry winced mentally; she had practically hung up on him last night. Poor James, maybe she hadn't been very fair to him.

She had fifteen minutes yet; Geoffrey and Marcia were expecting her at 9:00am to run through the building plans Marcia had had drawn up for the stables at Winfield Hall. She needed Harry's approval and written permission for the work to begin on the property that she rented from the Winfield Estate, the conversion of one of the outbuildings into an office suite and the building of an indoor sand/rubber surface training arena.

It was nice, regular income as far as Harry was concerned and if Marcia Poole wanted to invest in the site, that was fine by her. The rent from the distant cousins combined with Marcia's contribution plus a few other small ventures meant that Winfield Hall was more or less self-supporting – if it wasn't, Harry knew she would have been forced to sell the family seat long ago.

Still, the way she was expanding her riding school, Marcia was going nowhere it seemed and for that, Harry was thankful.

* * *

Breakfast was a strained affair.

Juliette had automatically assumed the role of 'mother', making toast for the three of them along with a pot of tea and annoying Dempsey by riffling through the cupboards and drawers for everything she required rather than just letting him get on with it as he had initially tried to to.

They were, however, united in their attempts to appease Jack for their behaviour in the early hours. He had refused to speak to either of them at the time despite the flurry of apologies outside his bedroom door but this morning, with all of them rather calmer it had been easier to say 'sorry'.

Jack had accepted their smoothing over of the events with a stoical resignation. He'd heard it all before and his parents recognised the disappointment in his eyes. He had given no indication though that he had heard about the existence of his half-sister. Dempsey didn't bring it up; he wanted to discuss it with him in private at a later date and Juliette certainly wasn't interested in being reminded.

So it was a subdued Juliette who exited the bathroom after her shower, aware that her ten o'clock deadline was fast approaching and that it would be wise to adhere to it given Dempsey's current disposition.

Wrapped in a sea green bath towel and with her feet bare, she sauntered down the landing with her hands filled with toiletries and clothing on the way back to her room.

As she drew nearer to the open door of Dempsey's bedroom she glanced in.

He didn't seem to be around.

It looked quite different in the daylight, much bigger but pleasantly intimate in dark, masculine shades of mauve, grey and purple.

She could hear the sound of running water and realised he must be showering in his own bathroom.

Juliette ventured inside, sickened fascination pulling her towards the run of drawers beneath the two windows on top of which she had spied a cluster of distinctly feminine-looking beauty items.

She stared down at the various products, reading the labels and logos but not quite willing to reach out and pick anything up.

It was _her_ stuff, things that _she_ used to beautify herself with right here in Jim's bedroom, lotions and potions to anoint her skin, scents and fragrances to create allure and illusion that would magically draw him to her.

With jealousy writhing like a serpent inside her, Juliette picked up the large tube of Dior body cream and flipped up the cap to sniff at the contents. Woody and sensual with a sharp and spicy topnote to pique his interest.

She replaced it and picked up a small glass bottle only a quarter full with a thick, glistening body oil. _Pour into your hand and massage over your body, leaving skin smooth and radiant _it read on the label.

Juliette planted it back down in disgust. She couldn't bare it; it wasn't like you even had to use your imagination to work out what they might have been using that for.

She collected up her own things again and had turned to leave when the bedroom phone started to ring. It was such a soft ringtone it hadn't even made her jump, despite her frustrated anxiety.

After only a moments' pause to consider, she shifted the things she was carrying to balance in the crook of her arm as she went and stood by the side of the bed to answer it with a simple, "Hello?"

There was a distinct delay but then the caller replied briskly, "Morning Juliette, it's Harry. How are you?"

Like she was remotely interested, thought Juliette.

"Great, thanks. We've just had breakfast. Jim's dropping me round at the bar in a bit…"

She stepped a few feet away from the bed so she was right up against the door to the en-suite.

"… after he's had a shower."

The jar of day cream skidded down her forearm but she managed to rebalance it before it fell.

"… did you know I was stopping at the flat?" Juliette asked cheerily.

"I did!" Harry replied with equal chumminess. "Excellent idea. I don't know why James didn't think of it."

_Bitch! _thought Juliette but instead said, "I know, that's exactly what he said. Still, he'd have got there in the end – he and Jack are so much on the same wavelength."

"Ahhh," Harry laughed lightly. "He's told me they're very close. I've got to admit they do look an awful lot alike as well. James is taking us both out to dinner tonight so I'll get to see the father/son interaction at close quarters."

Harry laughed again and Juliette felt like smashing the phone against the door.

"I'll get him to call you back shall I? I don't think he'd thank either of us for dragging him out of the shower and making him drip all over the carpet."

Juliette wondered how obvious the noise of the shower would sound on the other end of the line.

"If you don't mind," Harry said sweetly. "No rush though, I'm just about to go into a meeting with my solicitor but I'm sure I'll be finished by about ten."

"No problem, I'll let him know."

Her solicitor! What was the significance of that? If it was another snipe, she didn't get it, unless of course the meeting somehow related to Jim. Something to do with this daughter although she couldn't imagine what seeing as she was an adult now. Supposing there'd been talk of marriage? What if she needed to know where she stood legally if they lived together? Jim was a wealthy man but from what she remembered, wasn't Harry Makepeace loaded too? She was titled, owned some sort of stately home or castle or something and probably owned a lot more property and land too so did it have something to do with inheritance? What was she missing here?

"Thanks Juliette. Bye."

"Bye Harry," she simpered with coffee morning charisma.

As she replaced the phone on its' base, Juliette was fuming.

That woman had snared him good and proper and by the sounds of it she meant to hang onto him. She'd never got her answer out of Jimmy – what it was that made Harry so special to him. Perhaps he didn't really know. Maybe it had all been a fantasy; years of putting her on a pedestal, hankering after something he couldn't have. Maybe now he was 'living the dream' that dream would start to fade after a while and he'd come to realise she wasn't some goddess to be worshipped and adored. Eventually he'd have to admit to himself that the reality of it all was far from perfect and that as with most longed for events, there would come a brutal anti-climax.

Juliette came out of her reverie when the sound of running water ceased.

Straightening up, she turned to go but the sudden movement caused a mini landslide of the things she still had balanced across her arm.

Toothbrush, a bottle of make-up remover, the day cream and a packet of cotton wool pads all dropped unceremoniously to the floor and she swore softly as she bent to retrieve them. The silk chemise that had been draped over her arm then slithered off also.

"Oh, for God's sake!" she murmured in frustration, trying to tuck the bath towel more firmly around her as that too began to slip.

But then she had to smile to herself; grovelling naked on his bedroom floor with her arse in the air might just do the trick of he chose to leave the bathroom right now.

She gathered everything back up – or almost everything. She reached for the purple satin thong that had been folded up with the chemise but had drifted under the bed.

Then she hesitated, smiling again.

Just a thought: what if she hadn't noticed it? What if it got left there for somebody else to find? Who else was likely to be in here besides Jim? Jack possibly, and she assumed he had a cleaner… and if she was really, really lucky – Harry.

Russian Roulette.

And she soooo hoped it was Harry who got the bullet.

* * *

**There's a petition on Twitter to get a Dempsey & Makepeace Reunion onto our screens so please, please sign. It's really easy to join Twitter if you aren't on already and takes literally minutes. Glynis Barber regularly Tweets now so it's certainly worth a look.**

**The fanfiction site won't let me put the link on but once you're on Twitter, in the search box, just type in Dempsey & Makepeace Twitition and the link will come up.**


	109. Chapter 109

Chapter 109

She'd been trying, she really had but she just wasn't in the mood for making small talk with a fifteen year old boy and Jack didn't seem to be in the mood for anything at all.

Dempsey reached across the table to stroke her hand, gently teasing at the thin chain bearing the puff heart that hung around her wrist.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" she asked, making a conscious effort to focus her thoughts.

"It ain't exactly goin' accordin' to plan."

"What isn't?"

She blinked rather stupidly and then finally snapped back to the current situation. Dinner – dinner wasn't going according to plan.

Dempsey nodded over his shoulder in the direction Jack had been headed, in search of a toilet.

"He's normally got a lot more to say for himself."

"No, he's fine," she replied distractedly.

"You're pretty quiet too," he observed.

What was she supposed to say to that, here in this busy restaurant?

"Bit of a headache."

Which was true, she had, thanks to Juliette. The bloody woman had really got under her skin this morning and foolishly she had let it prey on her mind for the rest of the day. Harry certainly wasn't dumb enough to think that just because Juliette had answered the phone in Dempsey's bedroom whilst he was showering it meant something had gone off between them. She had obviously been stirring; attempting to imply what clearly wasn't the case. But yes, that tiny seed of… concern, had been planted and the effort involved in preventing the germination had brought on a corker of a headache.

"No chocolate fudge cake for you then, huh?" he said, squeezing her hand.

She wasn't even going to give Juliette the satisfaction of finding out she'd told Dempsey of her uneasiness because she simply wasn't going to mention it. Let her think she was impervious to such childish behaviour – that might knock the wind out of her malicious sails.

"Hey!" Dempsey snapped the fingers of his right hand close to her face. "Stay with me, partner."

Fixing a smile, Harry repeated, "No chocolate fudge cake."

"Nah, we're missin' the repartee here," he said, still keeping hold of her hand. "I tell you you can't have the chocolate fudge cake," he gestured towards her, "you say, '_hey, who are you to tell me I can't have the chocolate fudge cake?' _or words to that effect…" he jerked a thumb towards himself, "and then I come in with my line, 'well, if you got a headache, you ain't gonna be able to work it off with me later'."

He grinned that incorrigible Dempsey grin but the humour had struck a bitter chord. Her musings over Juliette's designs on James acted as a heavy anchor and right now, his allusion to bedroom activity had the power to throw up some pretty unsavoury mental images.

"Sorry," she apologised with the smile still in place. "I'm not quite with it I'm afraid."

Dempsey pulled back away from her then to grab the blonde waitress as she pass by their table.

"Hey, honey! Can I get the bill here?"

The waitress stopped in her tracks and backed up a couple of steps. "Yes, of course, Sir. No desserts or coffees?"

"No, we're good, thanks."

"What about Jack?" Harry interrupted quietly. "He might want something."

"Nah, he'd o' been checkin' out the menu before he'd finished the starter if he was interested. Think the kid needs an early night too."

The waitress gave Jack a friendly smile as he came back to the table and then slipped away.

"We good to go, pal?" Dempsey asked.

Slumping down into his seat opposite his father, Jack muttered, "Yeah, whatever."

* * *

Several minutes later, Dempsey was stood with his arm resting on the roof of the car trying to coax a conversation out of Jack whilst they waited for Harry. She had told them to go ahead whilst she popped to the ladies and Dempsey was quite glad of the opportunity to talk to Jack alone.

"Okay, I get it, Jack, you're still mad at me after last night but that's no reason to make things uncomfortable for Harry."

Dempsey was feeling uneasy about the exact reasons for Jack's sulky attitude. Supposing it wasn't just about last night – kids notoriously despised any new partner their parents chose, didn't they? They viewed them as an interloper; a usurper whose mission it was to prevent a reconciliation and they were often a target for their own unhappiness with the situation. But Jack had already described her as 'nice' and you didn't give 'nice' the cold shoulder.

"Maybe I'm just following your lead," said Jack sharply, "…making things uncomfortable."

"I already apologised… I don't know what else I can…"

"This is gonna be such a shitty holiday," Jack exploded.

But now it was Dempsey's turn to show his displeasure.

"Hey, hey, hey, big guy, I don't wanna hear that kinda language comin' from you!"

"Yeah, alright. Do as I say, not as I do," he mumbled.

"What's gotten into you, Jack?" Dempsey cried.

Jack regarded him with narrowed, wary eyes, unsure of quite how far he could push it but needing to vent his anger all the same.

"Maybe I'm just tired. I got woken up in the middle of the night by you and Mum going at it, remember?"

For a second, Harry's approach withered to slow motion as she caught the last of this exchange.

_They'd woken him up…_

"Ready, Princess?" beamed Dempsey, flipping the metaphorical switch.

"Yes," Harry answered miserably.

Dempsey arced his arm up and over and made for the driver's side of his black BMW. "Okay, kids, let's go home."

That was exactly what Harry wanted to do right now – to go home – her home. But her car was parked on the driveway back at the coach house so she had no choice but to get in the passenger seat next to the man whose trust, loyalty and integrity was disintegrating right before her very eyes.

On the journey home, Dempsey prattled incessantly, blocking the atmosphere and filling the silence with his observations on the traffic conditions, the weather and his thoughts on the various outings and excursions around London that might interest Jack. A couple of times he reached out to squeeze Harry's hand where it lay in her lap, enquiring as to how her headache was shaping up. Her meagre responses only served to draw on his sympathies and when Harry informed him of her intention to drive straight home after they got back he wouldn't hear of it, telling her she should go right up to bed and he'd bring her a cup of tea and a couple of aspirin.

In the back of the car, Jack was oblivious and sullen as he concentrated on his mobile phone.

She was completely misreading things Harry had almost convinced herself by the time they got through the front door. She had interpreted Jack's phraseology incorrectly and 'you and Mum going at it', simply meant they had been having a row, nothing more untoward than that.

How could she doubt James now when it had taken them so long to get this far? He had given up so much for her and realistically, would he have jeopardised their future together for the sake of one night with his ex? And yet the niggling doubt refused to budge even as he solicitously stood over her whilst she swallowed down the painkillers, even when he came to bed himself some time later having said goodnight to Jack and locking up for the night, and even after he kissed her forehead gently in the darkness as she pretended to sleep.

Once upon a time he had been a self-confessed womaniser until he had fallen for her. Supposing he had reverted to type. He had admitted to cheating on Juliette but she only had his word for it that it had just been the once in all of those seventeen years together despite some serious provocation on Juliette's part.

He said he loved Harry and she didn't doubt that but love and fidelity might not necessarily be on the same page as far as he was concerned… were they?

She couldn't sleep.

For what seemed like hours now it had all been circling around in her head and it was impossible for her to relax as the same petty, needling query about the bed linen threatened to drive her insane. Had the bed linen been changed since the night before last? Had it been this same mauve and purple block design or something else? She just couldn't remember. Had James felt it was incumbent upon him to remove any possible evidence or associated guilt relating to his indiscretion or was this the same bedding they had slept in together on Thursday night?

She lay stiff and tense, waves of turgid, uncomfortable heat surging through her.

Of course she was being ridiculous; she should speak to him and let him confirm that it was obviously just her over-active imagination at work.

But that would be tantamount to saying she didn't trust him and she did, of course she did, it was just… _what Harry? What was it just?_

It forced her to consider how well she actually knew him and how much she wanted from him, two points that if she was honest she had been glossing over. When you over-analysed something, it had a detrimental effect in her experience. Flaws became cracks and cracks usually had jagged edges. She only knew how happy she was with him and that her insatiable greed for his company made her feel strangely needy at times. If Juliette was hell-bent on splitting them up or getting James back then let her do her worst. One way or the other Harry was going to discover precisely what she meant to him. She wasn't going to fight for him and if James felt he had a decision to make then that was a clear enough answer in itself.

When Dempsey's breathing became relaxed and even, Harry turned her face, looking over her shoulder towards him. Although she couldn't see him she was aware of the weight of his hand upon her hip and she could imagine the proximity of his head on the pillow behind her.

Tomorrow. She would talk to him tomorrow.


	110. Chapter 110

**Sorry this chapter has taken so long but it just wasn't happening for some reason. Actually, I think the 'for some reason' was mostly down to Glynis and her Twittering again ;-)**

**Amanda, your words spurred me on to finish it so thanks for that.**

Chapter 110

"And what about you, what do you think of her?"

Julius produced a lazy smile and looked down into his glass of icewater as his mind shifted down through the possible responses.

"I guess I'd have to say she's 'different'."

Juliette tutted at this diplomacy. "Different in what way? Different to me do you mean?"

"Yeah, she's different to you." He shrugged, fixing his gaze to somewhere just left of the leather Chesterfield that sat beneath the large framed abstract of a sax. "Different to Dempsey too – real different to him."

"Exactly!" Juliette crowed with relish. "He's just kidding himself if he thinks there's any serious future in it."

Julius' passive expression as he picked up his glass and his continued silence served to aggravate Juliette intensely.

"You like her, don't you?" she accused.

"She's different," Julius repeated, "and sometimes it ain't no bad thing."

"But can you see it lasting?"

"Maybe."

Juliette looked at the big black man intently. Coming from Julius, that was practically an affirmative and jealousy nipped viciously because of it.

"It's been nearly ten months, girl," Julius told her with surprising gentleness, "you know what I'm sayin'?"

Juliette pouted. "But he always comes back… always."

"Take a look around… does this look like a life in limbo to you?"

With an involuntary action, she turned her head to look out across the bar room, saw the busy tables, heard the general buzz of chatter overlaid with laughter and background music and knew that what Julius was trying to impress upon her was the truth.

She raised her chin defiantly. "It's just another business; he managed to leave Society Security behind him without it having any detrimental effect on the bank balance so I'm sure he could do the same with this place."

Julius just shook his head, appearing to be watching Gavin as he trimmed a cocktail behind the bar.

"He can't keep away forever," she tried again. "He'll come home in the end."

She lightly scratched her fingernails over the denim weave of her jeans-clad thigh and after a heartbeats' hesitation, added, "Last night just proved that."

Slowly, Julius turned to her. "Last night," he said flatly.

She smiled and feigned slight abashment. "Mmm, last night." Her eyes danced mischievously. "You know…"

"Supposin' you tell me."

"Well… he got in late and we had a couple of drinks together, we talked and… one thing led to another."

Julius frowned. "What… you and he…?"

She nodded. "He's certainly missed me," she giggled. "Don't mention it though whatever you do 'cause I think he wants to keep it quiet for Jack's sake. Doesn't want to get his hopes up that he could be coming back to Jersey, just in case things don't work out."

Julius found himself both surprised and disappointed by this disclosure. Why the hell would Dempsey be messing around again with Juliette when he'd finally got things on track with Harry? She might not have been his cup of English breakfast at the start but he was warming to her and there was no denying the swagger she'd put in Dempsey's step. And she was what had been missing in his life ever since Julius could remember so why would he want to go and jeopardise that now?

He used to like Juliette but she'd changed over the years; good girl gone bad, the wayward kid sister and by the time he and Dempsey had left Jersey, it had sometimes felt like he didn't know her at all.

He had never interfered in their relationship and usually kept his opinions to himself although Juliette's infidelities had loosened his tongue on more than one occasion. The guy had been crazy to stay with her so long but his son meant everything to him and whilst Jack still needed him he had been determined to be there for him.

Julius couldn't help but wonder how he would have played it if he'd found out about his daughter a few years earlier. The poor guy would've been torn in two.

"You sure that's what it meant?" asked Julius, having given himself the few seconds necessary to contemplate her last words. "Just that to be honest with you honey, I can't see Jimmy goin' nowhere right now."

Juliette smiled understandingly. "I know he's giving the impression that everything in the garden is rosy but believe me, it isn't. He'd thought it was all going to fall into place after he'd found Harry again but I think he's realised that… well, you can't recreate the past, can you?"

Wasn't that exactly what Julius had tried to tell him himself right after 'looking Harry Makepeace up' had been announced? Still Dempsey had convinced him otherwise; he hadn't seen him this freakin' happy in years!

"He said that?"

"Pillow talk," she lied smoothly, "is very revealing."

He took a drink of his icewater and allowed the warm, strong vocals of the Dina Washington number playing in the background to take a hold, easing away that 'here-we-go-again' tenseness.

"Take that disapproving look off your face," she teased.

"Harry Cavanagh aside, you know this ain't healthy?"

"Healthy?" she laughed. "Show me a relationship that is! Women are from Venus, men are from Mars but we just can't live without each other can we?"

Although her quote had been meant in general terms, Julius chose to answer it literally.

"Sure you can. I know you Juliette and I know Dempsey and I'm tellin' ya, you're better off apart."

"That isn't true!" she huffed.

He smiled a little, inviting her to open up. "C'mmon, Jules, lay-it-on-the-line time; you only want him back to prove to yourself that you got that power. It's a car crash waitin' to happen."

Juliette pulled a shocked face. "Ever heard of a little thing called love?"

"Have you?" he shot back. "And how about devotion? You remember that one too?"

Stretching herself out on the stool into a relaxed pose, Juliette formed her painted lips into an 'O'. "Don't let's get started on that one, treasure – I know I could never compete with you."

Julius chuckled. His enduring friendship with Dempsey had been a source of envy-studded amusement to her over the years.

Whoever it was who had coined the term 'bromance' had given her ammunition to fire at Julius whenever she was feeling left out of the loop and she took great delight in implying that his single status was due to a torch he carried for his old friend.

"That ain't devotion you're thinkin' of, just a healthy respect and if you'd of had either one of those things maybe we wouldn't be havin' this conversation right now."

There was no real animosity between them, not after so long but Juliette knew how he felt about her and recognised the fact that he had only tolerated her behaviour because Dempsey had.

"Oh, change the record, love," she sighed. "Works both ways doesn't it? Jimmy was never a hundred per cent committed, if he was I'd have a ring on my finger wouldn't I? I'd be Mrs Juliette Dempsey – safe and secure, loved and cherished."

She fixed him with a look.

"Course, we both know now why that was never going to happen."

Julius didn't disagree but let her carry on.

"She cheated me out of a husband," she said.

The bitterness was masked unsuccessfully by the goading smile and Julius knew he was seeing determination in her eyes.

"… and I don't see why she should be allowed to get away with that."

**I'm hoping the next chapter is going to see a bit more 'action'. Think I just felt I needed to build up to it.**

**Pleeeeeease review. I need your thoughts and impressions.**


	111. Chapter 111

**Sorry it's been a long time since the last chapter but I just seem to have been too busy lately. **

**Was lucky enough to see Michael in the musical 'Singin' in the Rain' on 10th Sept and then Glynis in the play 'Seasons Greetings' on 12th Sept. I met them both afterwards too! Maybe one day I'll get to meet them both together. Dempsey & Makepeace in the 'Now'!**

Chapter 111

In the half light, the ornamental ball seemed even more enticing than normal, more mystical and as time drifted by Harry found her imagination hard at work.

She watched it, crouching there on the shelf, a living, breathing entity that appeared to pulsate from within and for one bizarre instant she could believe it held a miniature world of warm and wonderful secrets.

Dempsey's head was bowed to her shoulder and she could feel his breath upon it, soft and constant. The breath came through his nostrils, the sound it made almost meditative in nature.

She had been lying in bed, staring across at the shelf on the other side of the bedroom since she awoke over half an hour earlier. She was concentrating very hard on not thinking about the doubts she had but soon Dempsey was going to wake up and she would be forced to confront them head on. He would want her and the thought of that happening, in this bed when there was a strong possibility that Juliette had lain here with him made her rigid with nausea.

Why was she so ready to believe the worst of him, she wondered. Was she really that insecure? Did she think he was that much of a bastard that he could do something like that? Or maybe she recognised that quite odious _stop-at-nothing_ trait that was present in certain women, including Juliette.

Dempsey stretched leisurely, half turning onto his stomach, his mouth pressing an unconscious, swollen kiss upon her shoulder.

Harry tensed and kept her eyes on the shelf.

"Hey, gorgeous," he murmured.

Her belly tightened as his hand came up to smooth his palm across the flat expanse, fingers cinching at her small waist. Lifting his head slightly, he wedged his face into her neck and sighed contentedly. "You smell nice."

"Do I?" she asked, detachedly.

"Uh huh."

He drew her closer. "Good enough to eat."

He began to nibble at her neck with fine-tuned precision but rather than producing the usual high-pitched giggle, his actions brought forth a tongue-click of irritation and a hot tingle of tears behind her eyes.

She pulled away sharply but couldn't vocalise the raw, grinding feeling inside.

Dempsey rolled himself up onto his left elbow, hurt evident in his face. "Whad I do?" he quizzed loudly.

"I don't know… what _did_ you do, Dempsey?"

"You ain't makin' sense, hon. Wanna explain?" His tone was kept deliberately low, in contrast to Harry's harshness.

She had dragged herself upright but had her face in her hands rather than look at him.

"Harry?" he asked, tense now.

She shook her head, gathering her thoughts before finally lowering her hands and risking a harassed glance in his direction.

Then slowly, a smile crept over Dempsey's worried features and he even laughed. "You were dreamin' about me! What was I doin'? Breakin' into the Bank of England? Roughin' up a baby bunny rabbit?" He laughed again, more heartily this time. "Whatever it was, I'm sorry, okay?" he said as he gave her a brief hug.

"I wasn't dreaming, James and my eyes are wide open so please don't lie to me…"

"Lie?" he frowned. "About what? I ain't never lied to you!"

She forced herself to coolly meet his eyes.

"Juliette. You slept with her on Friday night, didn't you?"

It was only a few seconds but the silence which ensued seemed interminable. It was finally broken when Dempsey asked very quietly, "And what the hell would I have gone and done a dumb-ass thing like that for?"

"Because she was there," she replied, relieved she was managing to sound so calm and detached, "because she was willing, because ex-lovers make comfortable bedfellows, because you were flattered… you never could resist a pretty face… should I go on?"

Dempsey's eyes narrowed. "Well pardon my French but that's just so much bullshit, Tinkerbell."

He sounded angry and defensive, a combination which did nothing to restore her confidence in him.

"And what exactly, may I ask, are you basing these accusations on?"

"When I called yesterday morning," she began determinedly, "she answered the bedroom phone…"

"Gee whizz! Irrefutable proof that I've been boffing Juliette!"

"… and you were in the shower."

"… meaning I had no idea she was snoopin' around in here."

"I heard what Jack said to you last night in the restaurant car park," she accused.

"Well you're gonna have to remind me of that one 'cause I can't think of anythin' incriminating that came outa the kids mouth."

It felt ridiculously wrong to be sitting here in bed having this row now it was out in the open and so Harry launched herself out from under the thin duvet to confront him from a more appropriate distance.

"You woke him up in the middle of the night…! She swallowed hard before she could get the next words out, "… _going at it_."

"Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, huh Harry? Guess you got me with that one."

She wanted to throw something at him, _really_ wanted to do some damage and she felt her hands tighten into fists at her sides.

"You bastard," she growled.

"So you want the truth?"

He levered himself from his side of the bed and stood to face her.

Harry could hear her own breath as she struggled to maintain politesse.

"You really wanna hear it?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

White noise in her ears now as he goaded her.

"Just a one-off for old times' sake was it Dempsey?"

She put her hands on her hips, her cheeks slightly flushed and her breast heaving beneath the short pink jersey and lace nightdress she wore.

"You think so little of me?"

"Or are you of the philosophy that sex with the ex is perfectly acceptable?" she shouted him down.

"She came on to me…"

Harry grabbed up the nearest thing to hand – a scented candle in a ceramic pot off the bedside cabinet and lobbed it at him.

"And you're just a boy who can't say no!"

Dempsey's arms came up in front of him to protect himself but the pot struck him hard on his right shoulder before bouncing off to land on the pillow.

"Owww!" he yelled. "Cut that out, Harry and just shut up and listen for once in your goddamn life."

"What, listen to your excuses…?" she snatched up the Stieg Larsson paperback that had been residing on her side since last week

and that too came sailing through the air towards him, "… and lies?"

This time he managed to actually catch the missile before it hit, much to Harry's chagrin.

Dempsey slammed the book down onto the cabinet on his side. "She offered me a beer – I accepted. We talked for a while. She made it clear what she wanted so I thought it'd be wise to call it a night…"

"And what, pray tell, did she want exactly?" Harry mocked. "Just a quick bunk-up or was she looking to get things back onto a more permanent footing?"

"She thought we were gonna pick up again - like we always used to."

"And?" Harry demanded.

"And I set her straight!" he said, exasperated.

"And you think that's sufficient, do you? 'I set her straight'. Was that before or after you screwed her?" She smiled bitterly. "Sorry, maybe 'I set her straight' is a euphemism anyway is it?"

Harry leant to the side and fastened her hand around the base of the bedside lamp. "I'm a bit slow on the uptake, you see."

Dempsey raised both of his hands palms facing out. "Please don't do that…"

"Tell me!"

"Okay, okay," he placated. "Look, I went to bed, lights out and I was all tucked in like a good little soldier… alone, I promise," he added, eyeing the lamp.

"How terribly sweet," she said acerbically.

Dempsey sighed. "Anyways, she snuck in, climbed into bed and tried to…"

Harry cocked a furious eyebrow. "Jump you?"

"Well…" he began tentatively, "yeah."

The lamp rose up as Harry let out a shriek of disgust.

"No! Princess, please just put the lamp down."

He jumped onto the bed, lunging towards her with his hands outstretched as Harry gritted her teeth. "You asked me and I'm tellin' ya."

The lamp wasn't going anywhere anyway, being firmly tethered by its' electrical flex but the mood she was in, Dempsey could easily see it being ripped out without too much effort.

The problem now was that he found himself left in a rather foolish stance in the middle of the king size bed, he looking down at Harry, she looking up in disdain at him.

Uncertain as to whether his positioning was to her advantage or not, she glanced at the lamp which she'd managed to drag only as far as her hip. She felt somewhat ridiculous standing here with a blunt instrument she was unable to wield.

"Get down off the bloody bed, Dempsey, you look like a performing chimp."

"Yeah? Well I feel more like a dancin' bear," he grouched as he clambered down next to Harry in an ungainly fashion, "tryin' to tango to everybody's tune."

Neither of them could keep it going – the situation was just too absurd.

Harry replaced the lamp, not looking at him as she said tightly, "In case you've forgotten, it takes two to tango – not three."

"And the only partner I want is you, Sergeant."

Harry's mouth quivered with a supressed smile. "Oh, please!" She tossed her head, eyes rolling and marched herself through to the bathroom.

After a few moments, Dempsey followed.

"Hey, I'm the injured party here sweetheart, in case you hadn't realised," he informed the slamming bathroom door.

The bolt snicked across loudly.

"Bollocks!" she called out.

"It's true! It was embarrassing…"

"You've never been embarrassed in your entire life."

"Believe me, Friday night changed that… and when Jack walked in… balled us out for fightin' too loud… not a great scene."

Silence reigned and Dempsey knew she was mulling that one over.

"And I gotta say, Harry, kind of bothers me that you'd even think I'd do somethin' like that."

"Well you've got to admit, it's hardly beyond the realms of possibility, is it?"

"Actually, yeah, it is!" He used his most up-in-arms disgruntled tone.

Again, there was no answer.

"I said, yeah, it _is_ beyond the realms of possibility."

Disgruntled edged with annoyed.

"Go away!"

"What?"

"It's very rude to stand outside a bathroom door. It puts a person off."

"Oh."

Dempsey backed off a couple of steps but then immediately returned. "That's 'cause you're so goddamned English."

"It's all to do with decorum, darling, something the bloody Yanks know absolutely nothing about."

Dempsey threw his hands up in the air. "Oh, oh, right. I forgot that 'Lady Makepeace' wrote the book on it. I still got my signed copy… Decorum for Dummies. Sits right up there on the shelf alongside Infidelity for Idiots and I ain't read neither one of 'em."

He heard the toilet flush and then immediately after, the sound of water splashing into the basin.

Harry whipped the door open so suddenly that Dempsey felt the backdraft and he masked his surprise with a severe frown.

"It wasn't a book, it was an article," she told him matter-of-factly. "Horse and Hound, May edition 1995. The Changing Face of Etiquette."

"Smart-ass," he murmured, studying that very part of her anatomy as she swept past him.

Harry rummaged around in the chest of drawers which had somehow been allocated to her ever-increasing collection of 'staying over' possessions. Pulling out a hair elastic, she roughly screwed her hair up and secured it atop her head in preparation for her shower.

"It is definitely over, isn't it James?" she asked quietly.

She was thawing.

"Baby, it was over a long time before I came back to London. I told you that already. Why can't you believe me?"

Turning to him, Harry answered steadily, "Because she's young and she's beautiful and that's a very intimidating combination… in case you hadn't realised."

Dempsey gave her a sidelong grin.

"Is this vulnerability I see before me?" he asked gently.

He saw her nostrils flare and quickly jumped in to cover himself. "Honey, I don't see those things as bein' qualities in Juliette. Yeah, she's attractive I guess and she's younger than either of us but they're just facts and facts are kinda boring – facts just don't do it for me."

He rubbed at the back of his neck before looking back at her roguishly. "You on the other hand do it for me every time."

She wasn't impressed.

"I'm serious, Dempsey. If there's any possibility that you'll go back to Juliette, however fleetingly, I want to know."

"Princess…" he began as he moved towards her, "you're the one I want… the one I've always wanted."

Harry melted as his arms folded around her. His warmth brought comfort and against her better judgement she let herself sink against him.

"I think my life would be a lot easier if I didn't love you quite so much," she sighed, leaning her cheek upon his collarbone.

Dempsey turned his head to rest his chin on the top of her head and chuckled. "Like I always say, life is hard and th…"

"Don't!" she reprimanded, gently slapping a hand to his back.

Holding her away from him, he grinned, "I was just gonna say, and then you fall in love. What's the matter?" he asked, watching her wide-eyed expression, "too romantic for ya?"

"You're comparing falling in love to dying?"

"Yeah, it's the poet in me," he joked but then pulling back from her a little he said more seriously, "Juliette is Jack's mom – that's _all_ she is to me, okay?"

Nodding rapidly in agreement, Harry acknowledged that her initial instincts had been correct: Juliette had been stirring things when she answered the phone call in Dempsey's bedroom – she had of course just been passing his bedroom when it rang. And the overheard conversation in the car park had been just an expression of teenaged disapproval.

"I'm thinkin' she might even go home pretty soon. Gonna get bored all on her ownsome at the bar."

"There's Julius."

"He ain't gonna go out of his way to keep her entertained."

"No?"

Harry was stroking her fingertips up and down his forearms as his hands held her about the waist.

"Couple days intensive shoppin'," he drawled, "a trip to some swanky beauty salon where celebrity faces hang out and then she'll be on the next train down to the ferry port."

"A girl after my own heart," Harry was able to joke now.

"Uh, uh – you're goin' nowhere."

"All except the last part then," she acquiesced and for the first time in twenty-four hours she was able to breathe freely again.

She had been wrong - wonderfully, appallingly wrong.

**Now don't forget to review and maybe I'll post the next chapter a bit quicker ;-) ... if you're still enjoying it that is :-}**


	112. Chapter 112

**Sorry it's been quite a long time inbetween chapters again.**

**This chapter turned out too long so I've split it into two and will post chapter 113 tomorrow.**

**Just for posterity, today was the day that Diane, Anna, Izabela & Myriam went to see Seasons Greetings in Coventry... well, yesterday I suppose (01/10/11) as it's now 2:00am the following day! **

Chapter 112

By the time they resurfaced, showered and dressed it was gone 9:30am.

Jack still wasn't up of course and Harry heard Dempsey hammer on his bedroom door as he made his way downstairs, yelling something about a busy day ahead.

'The Boys' were going to visit the Imperial War Museum today and on Monday there was a SciFi exhibition on near Richmond that Jack was keen to check out.

It was the plan that Harry would keep out of the way to allow Dempsey time to break the news to Jack about his half-sister at some point over the next couple of days. He confessed he had no idea how his son would take it but had tentatively suggested to Harry that he hoped Jack would see it as having an extended family living in London. Harry had liked that idea – it rather implied they were together for keeps.

Maybe that was why she had so readily jumped to conclusions over Juliette; everything was so new still, so tender and the fragility of it all alarmed her. The idea that Juliette may hold the power to bring it all down around her ears was petrifying.

In a way it was maybe better that they would be having some time apart. They both needed chance to take stock Harry decided. Where would they go from here? Living together? So soon? Was that do-able even? But then the option of living apart forever was unthinkable. Funny how the idea of selling up Kettleworth Avenue didn't faze her in the slightest. It had been the family home for so many years, so many good memories but she just knew there were a thousand more memories in the making right here in this house with Dempsey.

Was she jumping the gun?

"Come on you guys, papa's makin' pancakes," she heard him call from downstairs.

Pancakes! Dempsey was making them pancakes for breakfast! This was what she craved, this element of the unexpected, of spontaneity. Who else but James could make breakfast exciting for God's sake?

"Be down in a sec."

She heard the approbation in her own voice and then Jack's rang out with that grudging eagerness of the teenaged youth. "Regular stack, Dad," followed by, "Did you get the Amber Maple syrup?"

"Only the finest."

Harry plumped the pillows on the bed with a small smile. He was a good dad to Jack, she could tell. He would have been a good dad to Jamie too.

She moved to the foot of the bed and grabbed at the bottom edges of the duvet, giving it a good shake before letting it settle and smoothing out the creases with the flat of her hand.

She heard a door open along the hall followed by the banging to of the bathroom door. A minute later, more banging about as he returned to his room.

It amused Harry – Ed was still the same now, couldn't do anything quietly. Something to do with the gaucheness of growing limbs and gangly clumsiness.

Taking a quick look about her, she tried to decide whether there was anything she needed to take home today or not.

She scanned the room again. No matter, there wouldn't be anything so important that it couldn't wait until later in the week.

"Morning," greeted Jack as she passed into the hall, almost walking into him. "Has the headache gone?"

He sounded as though he had been steeling himself to ask.

"Good morning!" she smiled brightly. "Yes, completely gone, thank you. Did you sleep well?"

Jack rubbed his right hand across the back of his neck in a very _Dempsey-ish_ mannerism.

"Sorry if I was a pain in the… if I was a pain last night."

"Jack, it's fine," Harry soothed, "it's bound to be a bit awkward at first, isn't it… you know… with me seeing your Dad and everything."

They'd got as far as the head of the stairs when Jack answered.

"It's nothing to do with you."

"Ah."

Harry shrivelled a little bit inside.

"No, I didn't mean it like that…" The boy was blushing now. "I mean… with my Mum being here… they wind each other up… they're annoying, that's all."

"Oh, I see."

"Didn't mean you."

"Harry laughed lightly, hoping to put him at his ease.

"Well I wouldn't blame you. Maybe your Dad should have warned you there was going to be a strange woman hanging around."

She offered him an engaging smile. "I gather I was rather sprung upon you."

"Not as bad as my Mum turning up though!"

They were nearly at the bottom of the stairs.

"She's a mentalist sometimes," he added.

"Is she?" she asked lamely, not knowing what else to say to that. She couldn't tell whether he was joking or not.

But the conversation was blocked from expansion by Dempsey entering the hallway.

"Come on you guys, it's gettin' cold."

He ushered them through to the large kitchen where, Harry noted with amusement, the pile of junk which normally resided on the table now lay in a relatively neat stack upon the far end of the work surface nearest the back door. The table was set for three and laden with juice, cereals, milk, a tea pot and a pouring jug of syrup. A large stack of American-style pancakes took centre stage and beside it, a plate of thin, crispy bacon.

Harry sniffed the air appreciatively. "Smells delicious."

"So sit. Eat."

Dempsey pulled out a chair and indicated for her to sit down.

"And you made these yourself?" she asked with mock suspicion as he leaned forward over her shoulder and forked a hot, fluffy pancake onto her plate.

That made Jack laugh. "He's pathetic at cooking, isn't he? Literally the only thing Dad can do is pancakes."

He had landed two on his plate and was laying strips of bacon over them.

"I've never had the pleasure until now," Harry admitted and watched Jack pour dark brown maple syrup over his pancakes and bacon with her nose wrinkling.

"I make the best pancakes this side o' the Atlantic," chuckled Dempsey, resting a hand on Harry's shoulder as he reached over for bacon. "Ain't that right, Jack?"

"Um… think I'll forgo the bacon. I can't quite get my head around the idea of sugar-coated meat for my breakfast."

Dempsey sat down next to her, grinning. "I'd bet my sweet bippy you've never even tasted maple hog!"

"Let's just say your 'bippy' is quite safe and will be for the foreseeable future."

Jack caught her eye and managed to convey his appreciation of her humour, albeit shyly.

Dempsey noticed and gestured at her with his fork for Jack's benefit. "Always been the same – has a set of tastebuds with no sense of adventure."

"It's called a discerning palate!" she objected, drizzling a little of the sticky amber coloured liquid onto her pancake.

"Won't even eat a hotdog if you can believe it," he confided to Jack.

Harry veered her head to one side exaggeratedly. "Oh, just the smell…!"

"Fried onions," Dempsey winked at Jack.

"Yellow mustard," his son joined in, grinning.

"Nose to tail ketchup."

"Chili-dogs."

They both laughed when Harry groaned in revulsion. "You really are your father's son, Jack."

The boy regarded her diffidently. "Does that go against me then?"

"I'd like to say yes," she smiled conspiratorially, "but I think you've got the Dempsey charm too."

He blushed a little and attacked his plate of food with gusto.

"Hey, with me for his old man, the kid's got the world at his feet, right?" Dempsey said, picking up a piece of bacon in between his fingers and devouring it.

"Let's just hope he hasn't got the Dempsey ego as well!" Harry shrilled.

**So I'll be posting the next part in chapter 113 tomorrow**


	113. Chapter 113

Chapter 113

One way or another I'm gonna win ya  
I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha

_**One Way Or Another by Blondie**_

* * *

An hour later, the three stood at the front door as Harry said goodbye.

Jack pushed his hands deep into his jeans pockets. "See you on Wednesday then."

Harry nodded. "But remember, if you two come up with something you'd rather be doing in the meantime, I really don't mind."

"Well if we do come up with something," said Jack, "you can come too, can't you?"

"Exactly!" Dempsey said with conviction, hooking his arm around Jack's neck and dragging him against him with a broad grin aimed at Harry.

They were being rather sweet but Harry wanted to give them some space. She knew how badly Dempsey missed his son and a fortnight was precious little time in which to catch up as it was without Harry muscling in.

"Just have fun," she smiled before leaning over to press a kiss to each of their cheeks.

Jack seemed to take note of the hand that lingered around Harry's waist and made a tactical withdrawal back to the kitchen.

"So," said Dempsey as he took her small frame into his arms.

Harry smiled up at him flirtatiously. "So…"

"You liked my pancakes."

"I loved your pancakes."

He gave a grunt of satisfaction at her answer. "You gonna come back for more sometime?"

Harry sucked in a breath. "Tempting offer."

Dempsey gazed at her mouth ravenously, revelling in her awareness of the anticipation.

"Speakin' for myself," his hands moved easily down over her hips, "I never seem to be able to get enough."

"Gluttony, James, is a sin."

"Yeah, and I'm a sinner."

His mouth was now scant inches from hers and his heart moved in his chest as he watched Harry's lips part slightly.

"I'll see you soon," she whispered just before their mouths met in warm and passionate union.

When the kiss ended they remained in each other's arms for a few moments more just enjoying the comfortable feeling of togetherness that it brought.

But eventually Harry pulled away.

"Right – I'm going to get going."

Bending to the doorstep, she swung the oversized shoulder bag she had dumped there up over her arm before returning to his embrace briefly to plant another quick kiss.

I'll call you tomorrow," said Dempsey with a resigned smile.

"Oh, hell!"

Harry thrust the bag against his chest.

"I think I've left my reading glasses upstairs… oh and my book…" she darted to the bottom of the staircase, "I may as well take my book home," she murmured half to herself.

He watched her disappear and then leaned around the front door to gaze across the drive to where their two cars stood side by side. Beyond the moss clad stone wall was the street where he could see the head and shoulders of a youth walking past and hear the twanging thump of a football as he bounced it upon the pavement.

On either side of the property, birds tweeted in the oaks. Dempsey couldn't stop himself from smiling broadly – didn't want to stop. All was right with the world.

Eventually he came around from his reverie, realising that time had passed and Harry hadn't returned.

He slewed his torso back around the doorframe.

"You need a pair of glasses to look for those glasses?" he called out.

When there was no response forthcoming he shouted again, "Harry? You find 'em?"

Dempsey waited.

"Want some help, Princess?"

He had his foot on the bottom step when Harry reappeared.

"Got 'em?" he asked, looking up at her.

There was something about the look she cast down upon him that twisted his gut.

"What's the matter?"

Harry began to make her way downstairs and he could almost feel the cold anger emanating from her, the stony silence trailing in her wake.

"Baby, is somethin' wrong?"

But he knew something was terribly wrong.

"When I was on the force," she said quietly, not meeting his eye, "I remember the most important part of the case was always the assembling of the evidence."

Half way down to the hallway now.

Half way down to Dempsey.

"Wouldn't you agree, James?"

"Yeah… I guess," he frowned, making no effort to conceal his lack of understanding. "Yeah… sure."

"And once you have your evidence, the conviction is pretty much a dead cert."

She looked at him then, a white fury burning in her eyes.

Four steps away.

Her eyebrows lifted. "In the bag, as they say."

"Whadya mean, _evidence_? Evidence of what?"

She was on the stair above him. So cold. So detached.

"Either you're a dirty, lying pig or you've developed a fetish for wearing tarty lingerie. Either way, I'm afraid it's something I really don't want to be involved in."

As she spoke she took the last stair down to ground level and turned about to face him.

"I won't be made a fool of," she told him as she raised her right hand and let the purple satin thong fall against Dempsey's chest.

His chin dropped as his eyes tried to follow the slip of fabric and his hand flew up automatically to catch it.

Harry wiped her empty palm deliberately down his shirt front.

"You make me feel physically sick, do you know that?"

It only took a moment for him to realise what it was he held in his hand. "Where'd you get this?" he asked, panic stricken.

"Oh please don't let's go through that charade, James, it really is just too tiresome."

"The bedroom? You found this is the bedroom?"

Harry stalked to the front door, grabbed up her bag and looked back with a murderous glare. "You know, I spent so long regretting losing you and now all I can think is what a bloody lucky escape I had!"

Stuffing the underwear into his jeans pocket, Dempsey hastened after her.

"Come on, Harry, this isn't evidence."

"Well it's doing a bloody good impression," she threw back.

She was shaking, he realised and he took hold of her forearms to steady her – and himself.

"It's Juliette's idea of a joke…"

"A joke!" Harry shrieked, shrugging him off. "If the woman finds this funny she quite clearly wants sectioning!"

He tried to catch hold of her again and again she resisted him.

"Keep your hands off me… I mean it," she reiterated.

"Harry, this is stupid!" he said with vehemence, the last word coming out as 'stoopid'

"I know." She was out of the door now. "Embarrassingly so." She fumbled inside her bag for her car keys.

"This is what she wanted, don't you see that?"

Harry threw him a look of disdain, letting him know just how pathetic she thought he was. "Don't even bother."

They were on the driveway now, almost at her car.

"She's jealous of us…"

He was practically dancing around her, wanting to prevent her from leaving but not daring to touch her for fear of increasing her anger.

"… a woman scorned."

"Not buying it I'm afraid," she said briskly and pulled open the car door.

He found himself having a hard time grasping exactly what was happening.

Dempsey's head was awash with frustration and fear and it seemed to seep through his entire being until he felt saturated with helplessness.

"Nothin' happened!"

"No, no of course it didn't," she sing-songed. "She got into bed with you – naked it would seem – and absolutely nothing happened!"

She tried to drag the car door shut but Dempsey was hanging onto it.

"She wasn't naked," he shouted in exasperation and then lowering his voice considerably said, "and I can't help it if she thinks she has squatters rights."

"No encouragement on your part of course. God, you must think I was born yesterday. Never a mention until you get found out!"

Harry gave the door a sharp yank and almost succeeded in closing it.

"Wait, you think I shoulda told you 'bout this? Put it out there? You think I shoulda offered up my balls in a vice? Guess we'd of sat around and had ourselves a hoot and a holler over the whole damn thing, huh?"

Harry looked straight ahead of her, her hand still pointedly flexed on the door handle.

"If you want to keep in contact with Jay, I have no objections – she's your daughter as much as she is mine…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa – rewind! You're skippin' waaaay ahead here."

She was ending it? Just like that? Over a misunderstanding!

When Harry switched on the ignition, he took the opportunity to swing the door towards him.

"I don't want an argument, James," she told him coolly.

"You ain't goin'… not 'til I get you to see I'm tellin' you the truth."

He watched the way her fingers curled and tightened about the steering wheel as she turned her head slowly, a pleasant smile fixed in place.

"I really don't want to hear any more. I'll be back at some point for my stuff and I'll pack up everything I've got of yours, okay?"

He wanted more than this from her; he needed to see some emotion, to know how badly she was hurting, a chink in that old Winfield suit of armour.

_Gimme something to work with, Harry!_

"I love you, Harry!" he cried desperately.

"Yes," she agreed matter-of-factly, "I think you probably do. And I'm pretty sure you really don't love Juliette anymore."

Dempsey could feel the sweat standing out on his brow and then a trickle sliding down his left temple.

"Which in a way," she continued, "makes the fact that you slept with her even more abhorrent. Now if you wouldn't mind I'd like you to get your face out of my car before I slam the door against your skull."

She faced forward again.

"Harry…"

"Do it!" she barked.

Slowly, Dempsey withdrew.

"You're makin' one helluva mistake, Princess…"

"I can live with that."

The door finally clunked shut and moments later the screech of spinning wheels and the smell of burning rubber left Dempsey with a slack jaw and a black hole where his life had just been.


	114. Chapter 114

Chapter 114

Really sorry I've taken so long to post this chapter but what with Twitter and going to see Glynis Barber in Seasons Greetings again (Sheffield this time) my mind just hasn't been on it. Hopefully the next one won't take quite so long.

**Jar of Hearts – Christina Perri**

_**I know, I can't take one more step towards you  
'Cause all that's waiting is regret  
Don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore  
You lost the love I loved the most**_

**I learned to live, half a life**  
**And now you want me one more time**

_**[Chorus:]**__**  
And who do you think you are?  
Runnin' 'round leaving scars  
Collecting your jar of hearts  
And tearing love apart  
You're gonna catch a cold  
From the ice inside your soul  
So don't come back for me  
Who do you think you are?**_

Jack clearly sensed something was amiss, may even have overheard their raised voices but Dempsey was anxious not to convey any of the negative emotions that coursed through him and so said nothing.

For short snatches of time throughout the day he was able to forget what had happened and just enjoy having Jack around. But perversely, rather than his mind being filled up with Harry, it was Juliette who he found himself preoccupied with.

Initially, he wanted to burn her alive for the witch that she was but Jack's presence curtailed any immediate retaliation and on reflection he realised that was most probably a good thing. He had never condoned physical violence against women (unless the woman happened to be a felon with a gun trained between his eyes) but Juliette had now become a special case. Boy, what he wouldn't give to have that pretty neck between his hands and squeeze real hard!

But he had to box clever, he decided. He couldn't afford to incur Juliette's wrath if it was going to put his contact with Jack in jeopardy. The kid was almost sixteen though, had a mind of his own and the right to choose where he lived in a few months time. Dempsey would certainly let it be known that he always had a home with him if he wanted it.

It was now evident that giving Juliette the use of the flat above the bar had been a big mistake. He needed to be there at certain times and the plan had been to do the Friday night gigs and to show his face every so often to do a shift when Julius was off. But the way he felt right now, he couldn't trust himself to be around Juliette. He'd told Harry what she'd done she had done out of jealousy but he wasn't sure of that. Could be nothing but spite born out of his rejection of her the other night; a dog-in-the-manger attack that had brought her some degree of satisfaction. Or could it be her way of getting him to take notice - last ditch attempt at proving to him that she cared.

It was his own fault – he could see that now.

Friday night he had sent out the wrong signals by sharing a drink with her and when she had come to him to share his bed as well, he had hesitated before spurning her. He knew the way Juliette operated and should have seen something like this coming the moment she washed up in London.

But it was too late to worry about that now and besides, he needed to concentrate on coming up with some way of convincing Harry of his innocence.

The way she'd gone had seriously shaken him. Every word she had uttered had been punctuated with a cool finality that froze on the air. She could do that… Harry had always been able to do that… cut a person down with just a few icy words and a glacial look. Used to impress the hell out of him in the old days when they were pulling in some bozo for questioning. She would have 'em like a deer caught in the headlights, all scared and uptight, just ready for him to put his foot on the gas and run 'em down.

Trouble was, that was how _he _felt now – like he'd just been ploughed into by a 16-wheeler.

* * *

So it had been the hairdressers first

She had almost cancelled, got as far as bringing up the number on her phone but a little voice inside had told her it wasn't wise to give in like that. She needed to draw on whatever inner strength she had left to keep the hideousness of despair from choking her.

She sat in Paulo's chair and allowed herself to be preened and beautified, only half listening to his cheeky and inane twittering about another client who earlier in the week had managed to upset half the staff with her ludicrously diva-ish demands.

And it had helped a little. The gossip had, if not interested her, at least distracted her for a time. But when an image of Juliette as the demanding diva had suddenly popped into her head, the bubble had burst and Harry had quietly had to deal with the sensation of cascading chaos. The happy future she had envisaged had never really existed and when one wasn't looking at it through rose tinted spectacles, it was all so blatantly obvious – Dempsey simply couldn't commit. He was the proverbial ladies' man, always had been and always would be. She knew now that if circumstances had been different back in 1988 and he hadn't gone back to America, with or without Jay, their relationship would have come to an acrimonious end. But, she would like to think, unlike Juliette, she would have let him go and held onto her dignity – as she was doing now. She would accept the situation and bow out gracefully, no need for arguments and recriminations. She would prove she was worthy of her official title of 'Lady' Harriet.

Back at home she was almost grateful that Edward had once again left the house looking as though the bomb squad had paid a visit.

She cleared away the collection of used plates and bowls from the living room and cleaned up the considerable mess that had been left in the kitchen too. Harry didn't doubt that Eddie would at least have made an attempt to get the house straight today. He had probably assumed she wouldn't be back until the evening but the place was a disaster area right now.

By the time she had finished cleaning, dusting, vacuuming and had put a wash load in, it was late afternoon. Harry realised she'd eaten nothing since breakfast but also realised she simply wasn't hungry. She forced down a yoghurt and an apple and was making herself a cup of tea when Ed arrived home.

His first words upon seeing her were: "Has something happened?"

* * *

Dempsey held off until half way through the football match Jack was engrossed in before he rang Harry's number.

If he was honest, he hadn't really expected her to answer so he could hardly say he was surprised when his attempt went to voicemail.

He didn't leave a message – what could he say that wouldn't sound like a broken record?

At full time he volunteered to organise more Cokes and snacks and called Harry's landline from the privacy of the kitchen. When it was picked up on the fourth ring he almost lost the power of speech but the sound of Ed's voice jolted him round.

"Hey Ed! How's it goin'?" he asked in particularly upbeat fashion as he prepared himself for the knock-back.

"Yeah, yeah, good, thanks," was Ed's automatic yet measured response.

"Is your Mom there to talk to?"

"Yeah… well, no. she's in the bath… one of those marathon soaking sessions. You know, bottle of wine and a book, type-thing."

"Uh huh. So when's the two hours up? Or if it's a real heavy session, I guess I'll need to wait 'til either the bottle's empty or she finishes the book – whichever comes first, huh?"

"Yeah," Ed laughed – politely it seemed to Dempsey. "I'll tell her you called shall I?"

"Yeah" And then he had to ask, "She okay?"

"You've split up then?" Ed confirmed tensely.

Dempsey sighed out loud. "That what she tell ya?"

"More or less."

There was a pause while Dempsey waited for Ed to divulge more but nothing was forthcoming.

"Your Mom's kind of… misread a certain situation and I just need to find some way of proving to her that I didn't do the things she's accusin' me of doin'… 'cause I didn't… do those things."

He was rambling.

"You know what I mean, Eddie?" he asked beseechingly, knowing even as he said it that Harry's kid was definitely not the right person to be asking.

"Mum says you're back with your ex," Ed said challengingly.

Dempsey latched onto this falsehood with an eagerness rooted in desperation.

"Yeah, see that's exactly what I'm talkin' about. I ain't back with her! Your Mom jumped to conclusions… which I guess in a way was understandable only I'm left lookin' like the bad guy and I need to get her to listen to the truth."

In his kitchen, Dempsey opened a cupboard door and took down a large bag of roasted pistachios.

"Hey, I'm sorry, kid," he transferred the phone across to his other ear, "don't mean to be layin' all of this at your door but I'm kinda stuck here."

"Just that she got the idea from somewhere," Ed pointed out coolly.

He went to the refrigerator and lifted out two cans of Cocoa-Cola with his left hand.

"That's perfectly true. She got the _idea_ after my screw-up of an ex decided to sneak into the bedroom and plant incriminating evidence in the shape of teeny-tiny…" Dempsey broke off from what was fast becoming 'too much information'. "You get the picture?"

"Errr, yeah," replied Ed uneasily. "She really did that?"

"Yep, she really did. Psycho, huh? And of course it didn't help that the morning after I was good enough to put her up for the night, she goes and takes a call from your Mom in _my_ bedroom!"

"So Mum thought…"

"Exactly! And yesterday," he continued, "she overhears the back end of a conversation between me and Jack which makes her think it was somethin' other than a row he walked in on Friday night!"

"And it wasn't?"

"You have to ask?" Dempsey flared. "Hey, I'm sorry, Pal," he recanted, "just that Harry means everyin' to me… I'm losin' my mind here," he apologised.

"'s alright. She hasn't said much to me… well she wouldn't, would she… y'know… maybe Jay but not really me."

"Yeah, yeah, I getcha," and then asked hopefully, "You think she's talked to Jay yet?"

"Doubt it. You know my Mum, she'll probably just stew for a bit before she talks to anyone."

"If I could just get her to hear me out… make her see she's got it all wrong." Dempsey growled with frustration. "Always was the most stubborn broad I ever knew."

"She can be pretty stubborn actually," Ed agreed and then added, "If you think it'll help, I can say something to her – ask her to at least talk to you again."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid. I could sure use someone in my corner right now."

"I'm not taking sides, Dempsey, it's just that if she hasn't let you explain what's happened she's not doing herself any favours, is she? I mean, she's been well happy since you got together."

"Okay, that's great. Impartial is good, I ain't complainin' at impartial. So you just mention I called, okay? Tell her I'll try again later… and I'm gonna keep tryin' 'til she sees reason."

…

By the end of the conversation, Dempsey felt strangely deflated and strung up in limbo. Had she really been in the bath or was that just what she'd told Ed to say? Paranoia was crushing his usually indomitable spirit. Looking back, this morning had just felt like a glitch; an error that could be rectified because he knew he was innocent and so it was only a matter of proving that to Harry. But now he realised he didn't know how the hell he was going to do that when all he had to offer was words that she refused to even hear.

Leaning heavily on the kitchen counter, a feeling of rising panic seized him as he began to see the enormity of the damage Juliette had done.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" Jack asked from the doorway.

Surprised, Dempsey spun around.

"Hey! What's up?" he asked carelessly.

"Heard you arguing on the doorstep this morning."

Dempsey didn't know what to say. God only knew what his son thought of him - first Juliette, now Harry.

"Did Harry finish with you because Mum stuck the boot in?"

Painful question for a father to answer but Dempsey's expression must have said it all because Jack went straight on to ask, "Are you going to tell me about your daughter now then?"


	115. Chapter 115

**It's time for Dempsey to take action and time for Harry to listen...**

Chapter 115

Jack had heard more of his parent's nocturnal altercation than Dempsey had realised and had, it transpired, spent the day just waiting for his father to tell him about the sister he never knew he had.

As the doorstep row with Harry had been rather more discreet, Jack hadn't been aware of the severity of their problems until now or that his mother was the cause of them.

Dempsey didn't go into details, just conveyed the fact that Juliette had set them up for a fall.

When it came to talking to Jack about his sister, he also used discretion, explaining to him about the murder he had witnessed when he was a police detective and the ensuing court case where he had lied in a court of law in order to keep Harry safe from harm. He told him that they had both been under immense pressure from the criminal underworld back then and Harry had been given no choice other than to keep Jay a secret from him. He made sure Jack understood that Harry was in no way to blame for any of it.

He also wanted him to know that it was completely up to Jack whether he chose to meet Jay or not but Jay herself was keen to get to know him.

Being an only child, meeting his sister was a big deal for Jack and one that he was nervously looking forward to.

It had been no secret to Jack that his mum wanted to get back together with his dad and he had done his best to persuade her that coming with him to London was a bad idea. When he'd visited at Christmas, he had finally understood that his parents were better off apart. He had got the impression that Dempsey was happier than he had been for a long time and calmer too. Initially he had thought it was simply because he had left behind the pressures of running Society Security and was enjoying the experience of owning and performing in his own bar. But it soon became obvious that it went much deeper than that; he had left the battleground behind him and Jack certainly didn't want old wounds to be opened up again.

* * *

"Oh my God!" screeched Angela as they emerged into the daylight. "I didn't think we were ever going to get away!"

She turned to Harry with exaggerated bemusement etched upon her face. "What on earth does Polly see in that man, besides the obvious of course?"

They had just spent the best part of three hours in 'Sherrif's' in Shepherds Bush, being bored rigid by the toyboy of an old friend of theirs. Polly Mayfield, the ex-wife of theatre director, Saxon Mayfield had invited them along for a late lunch after the matinee performance of 'The Importance of Being Ernest' in which her young lover, Christopher Parker, played the part of Algernon Moncrieff.

Whilst Christopher was undeniably an attractive man and a reasonably good actor, his conversation had been limited to these two facts alone.

"That girl needs to open her eyes," Angela continued, "because no matter how great he is in bed, it could not possibly make up for the greatness of that ego."

Harry laughed. "I know! And what made it all so awful was the way Polly was fawning all over him."

Angela shuddered. "Aesthetically pleasing and all that but he's got to be twenty years her junior surely and a fifty year old woman with her hands all over a chappie young enough to be her son is _not _what the general public wants to see on a Tuesday afternoon thank you very much." She suddenly smirked. "Still, I'd be quite happy to give him an audition even if the part is already spoken for."

"Eeeugh, pur-lease, darling," protested Harry, "you've just said yourself he's young enough to be her son so the same thing _definitely_ applies to you!

"Just because you prefer them to have a few more miles on the clock…"

Seeing Harry bit down on her lip, Angela realised her mistake. The theatre trip, lunch and a few drinks had succeeded in taking Harry out of herself for a few hours but it had also set her up for an emotional fall.

They rounded the corner and headed towards the taxi rank a couple of hundred yards further down the road.

"I still can't believe it you know," Angela sighed, watching Harry check her phone as they walked.

"Yes, well I can," replied Harry solemnly.

"He loves you – desperately. Everybody says so."

Harry frowned as she read the latest text messages from Dempsey. "Then _everybody_ was duped, weren't they."

She tutted disparagingly and held her phone aloft for Angela to read one of the messages.

**I followed my heart and there's no way I would ever be going back. It's always been you.**

"Ahhh," was Angela's automatic response, forgetting for the moment that she was supposed to be agreeing with her friend that it was mushy tripe.

Both women were totally unaware that they were being followed. Behind them, a woman kept her head lowered as she talked urgently into her mobile and a little behind her, another figure ambled along, staying close to the sides of the buildings they passed as he kept his quarry in sight.

"Ha!" Harry exclaimed. "The sheer bloody arrogance of the man!"

She thrust the phone at Angela again after reading the last text herself.

**I WILL make you listen to the truth **

"Mmm. Capital letters," Angela observed. "That means he's shouting, doesn't it?"

"Just who the hell does he think he is? I'll give him something to shout about, sending me bloody high handed statements like that," she ground out in a threatening tone.

* * *

"Where are you? I can't see you," the woman trailing them hissed into her mobile.

"That's the idea," came the response. "Do a forty-five."

The woman glanced discreetly across the street directly to her right.

"Okay, I can see you now," she returned, trepidation heightening her voice.

"You know what to do. Let's do it."

The line went dead and the woman shoved her phone inside her bag, hurrying now to catch up with Harry and Angela.

* * *

Harry was doing the same thing just a few feet ahead now, angrily dropping her phone into her handbag loose rather than fitting it into the designated internal pocket.

"Harry," said Angela tensely, putting a hand upon her arm to slow her down as they approached the end of the taxi rank. "I know to you it all seems very cut and dried but is there really no possibility James is telling you the truth? I mean, there is such a thing as coincidence you know; his ex really did just happen to be walking past his bedroom when you rang that day – what you heard his son saying to him in the car park, you may have misconstrued and can't all exes be vicious, manipulative cows when the need arises? Look at Carole and the run in her ex had with the laxatives."

"Angela, that was because he actually _was_ screwing someone else" said Harry, grimly.

"Ah…"

"And ironically, it seems, it was with _his_ ex too. So thank you, darling," she yanked open the rear door of the taxi, "thank you so much for pointing that out."

"Haaaarry…" Angela whined pathetically as she made to follow her into the back of the cab.

And then everything seemed to happen all at once and at breakneck speed.

Almost like some sort of terrorist attack, the women were surrounded.

The woman who had been following them spun Angela around just as she prepared to duck in after Harry and the figure bringing up the rear swiftly slammed the car door shut.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" cried Harry in alarm as a third person assailed the cab from the roadside, climbing in beside her and dragging in a billow of stuffy, warm air as the door shut with a clunk.

The taxi driver craned around to see what the commotion was about.

"Drive, Pal," Dempsey commanded through the gap in the glass partition.


	116. Chapter 116

**This chapter is for Sunset72 because I just love to be chased for updates ;-)**

Chapter 116

"This is kidnapping!" cried Harry angrily.

"Don't be such a drama queen, Princess. We're in the back of a licenced cab and there ain't a bale of twine or a roll of Duck tape in sight."

"Grrrr…" growled Harry. "It's rope and gaffer tape, Dempsey! Rope and bloody gaffer tape! How many years have you lived in this country?"

The taxi drew to an abrupt halt at the junction and the driver turned warily, understandably uncomfortable with the way business was being conducted in his cab. The word 'kidnapping' had rung out loud and clear.

"If anybody wants to get out, now's the time to do it," he called out.

"Nope. We're good," Dempsey answered jovially.

"Well, I believe this is my stop," replied Harry at the same time, leaning across to open the door.

"Oh no you don't, Tiger." Dempsey hauled her back beside him.

A car behind them beeped its horn.

"Look, I don't want no trouble," said the taxi driver nervously. "Is the lady gettin' out or what?"

Dempsey reeled off Harry's address.

"You're goin' home, okay? You just gotta promise to listen to somethin'."

"That alright with you then is it?" the driver checked as Harry continued to glare at Dempsey.

"Fine," she huffed eventually, sitting back with her arms folded across her chest.

The cab finally filtered into the traffic to the blaring of more irate motorists' horns.

"Although I can assure you there's nothing you can say that will make a scrap of difference…"

"Yeah, that's what we figured."

Dempsey handed her his mobile while he leaned across her and grabbed the seat belt.

"We? Who's we?" she asked crossly as she looked down at the mobile phone she suddenly found herself holding.

"Our kids! Now buckle up and shut up!"

He clunked the belt into place and did the same with his own.

"Now just you hang on a minute, Dempsey. You had no right speaking to…"

"You won't listen to me?" he talked over her, "that's fine, I can understand that so how 'bout you listen to someone else, huh?"

He removed the phone from her grasp and tapped a few buttons.

"I don't know what…"

"Shut up, Harry."

The dial tone suddenly filled the back of the cab as he switched to speakerphone and increased the volume. Within a few rings, the call was answered.

"Hello, Jimmy," said Juliette somewhat guardedly. "I was wondering when you'd get around to calling me."

Fortunately Harry was inarticulate with anger but her mild choking brought Dempsey's finger to his lips.

"Hi, honey. Yeah, it's me. How you been?" he sweet-talked.

"Alright I suppose. Had a shop 'til you drop spree; hair, nails, that sort of thing and now I'm a bit bored really."

"Bored?" he teased. "I ain't buyin' that. I know how good you are at makin' your own entertainment."

"But you know I've always much preferred to be entertained by you," she giggled.

Harry sat forward, absolutely furious and opened her mouth to vent but just in the nick, Dempsey clamped his free hand over her mouth.

"Nah, I'm talkin' 'bout that little… what shall I call it… that little _gift_ you left me on Sunday?"

"Gift?" Juliette asked innocently.

"That token of your affection. Veeery sexy."

Harry's breath was coming in fast, short bursts over his knuckles as she listened with mounting disgust to his words.

"Really," Juliette flirted.

"Really. But you're a bad girl, Jules, you know that? What would I of done if it'd been Harry who found that little itsy-bitsy scrap of nothin', huh? I'd of been in the dog house for sure."

"Wouldn't you just?" she laughed.

"'cause she might've gotten the wrong idea about what we were doin' Friday night," he baited casually.

He spoke slowly, drawing the words out quietly for her to drink in.

"Do you think so?" she mocked.

"Mmhm. Fact, I was lyin' in my bed just this mornin' thinkin' about 'the wrong idea'."

Juliette giggled again, warming to his theme. "Sounds like you're looking for a repeat performance."

"Strictly speaking, not a _repeat_ performance."

"We'll put that down to pre-performance nerves."

"Guess I just missed my cue."

Juliette laughed. "Well if you want to come over to the flat now, I can promise you there won't be a dry eye in the house."

"You're sellin' it to me, baby, you really are. Thought maybe after Friday night I'd burnt my bridges with you," he promoted.

"To say I was pissed off would obviously be an understatement."

"Oh yeah?" he charmed.

There I was in your bed absolutely gagging for it and you didn't want to know. It's hard for a girl to take that sort of rejection you know, Jimmy," she told him silkily.

As soon as the words were spoken, Dempsey felt Harry's mouth slacken and their eyes locked as he released his hand.

He chuckled. "I can't tell ya how much I've been longing to hear you say those words, Jules."

"I'll say them again later if you like."

A grin had spread across Dempsey's face as he took in Harry's open-mouthed wonderment.

"Nah, I think that one time was enough, sweetheart, Harry heard it loud and clear."

Dempsey unconsciously squeezed his mouth in his fingers to temper his wayward enjoyment of the situation in the embarrassed silence that followed.

"You should know by now Jules, you can't mess with me like that."

"She's there?" Juliette asked at last.

"Oh yeah, she's right here. I admit you did a great job of splicin' and dicin' and yeah, it was touch and go for a time but… well, I guess the truth will out, huh?"

"I thought…" Juliette faltered, "I thought you just needed a nudge in the right direction," and there was a flabby vulnerability clinging to her words that caused Harry's eyes to drop away from Dempsey's.

"Sure it wasn't sour grapes?"

Harry flashed him a warning look as if to say he had accomplished what he had set out to do and he didn't need a pound of flesh as well.

He grabbed up her hand in his and gently kissed the knuckles as he continued to hold his phone before them in his right hand.

Juliette spoke again, this time a little more forcefully. "Let's just say I was testing out strengths and weaknesses."

"Yeah, well, you write up your report and be sure and mail it to me at Giveashit Street, okay?"

"Good idea, Jimmy," Juliette said viciously, "I must remember to put in all the gory details – like how we rolled around with our tongues down each other's throats for a bit before you got cold feet." And then more loudly she asked, "Did you hear that too, Harry?"

Harry answered with a surprising calmness. "I heard, yes. It must have been rather discomforting to realise that he still wasn't going to sleep with you even after that."

Dempsey had known that part was going to come out – Juliette was hardly going to miss the opportunity to stick the knife in. It had been a gamble but better to gamble with the tatters of his relationship with Harry than watch them just blow away on the breeze.

"Wow, you have an incredible knack for puttin' a shine onto bullshit," he began.

"You'll have to forgive me, Harry," Juliette said bitterly, "it's just that this is all quite new to me. I'm just so used to him slinking back with his tail between his legs."

"I'll forgive you," said Harry, choosing to take the expression literally," as long as we both know where we stand now."

Juliette laughed harshly. "A word to the wise though, love; a grown-up daughter isn't going to bind him to you for very long so I hope you've got a back-up plan."

"Christ, you don't know when to quit, do you?" Dempsey laughed in amazement.

But Harry broke in mildly, "No plans whatsoever. No plans, no ties, no pressure. I wouldn't want to make a silly mistake like that now would I?"

And before she had time to retaliate, Dempsey told her, "When you're done with the apartment, leave the key with Julius, okay? Far as I'm concerned, honey, we don't need to communicate again unless there's a problem with Jack."

His loud, brusque tone reminded Harry of Lieutenant Dempsey. In the months since they had been back in contact she had never once heard him sound that hard and detached and she understood how greatly Juliette's actions had affected him. The woman had almost torn them apart and that realisation made her go cold despite the heat of the car they were travelling in.

Juliette never got a chance to reply before Dempsey cut the call.

Tossing the phone down beside him, he sighed heavily and Harry looked up at him, hearing the shudder that ran through it.

For a few moments neither of them spoke but their fingers remained entwined, reassuring each other with gently caressing squeezes.

At last, Dempsey brought his free hand up and rubbed the back against his mouth.

"Oh boy," he mumbled.

"Are you alright?"

He glanced down and laughed at her look of concern. It was the laughter of relief.

"Close call, Harry. Thought I was gonna lose you again."

Harry shook her head, a stoical little smile causing him to raise his eyebrows.

"I was almost on the verge of forgiving you – can you believe that? I thought, as long as I could get you to promise it wouldn't happen again, I could cope with it."

"Harry…"

"I couldn't of course… I wouldn't have coped but then again I have to admit I wasn't doing terribly well without you."

"Harry," Dempsey cupped her cheek as he looked into her eyes, "what she said… the kissing thing…"

She sat a little straighter. "What about it?"

"That was all it was… just a kiss."

"I know," Harry murmured.

"Didn't mean nothin'…"

Her hand came up to cover his. "I know, James. Heat of the moment."

She was taking it all too well, he knew and it bothered him.

"Yeah, that's exactly right," he said tentatively.

"While we're being honest, I think I should tell you about me and Philip."

Instantly he recoiled from her. "You and Philip?"

Suddenly all the tenderness had disappeared.

"Jesus Christ, Harry!"

Dempsey ran his sweating palms down the front of his jeans. "Gotta admit I wasn't expecting that."

"No, I don't mean…" she stumbled. "We kissed too, that's all but I've felt so guilty about it ever since. I felt I should tell you but the opportunity never arose."

"When?" he asked. Did he sound as knocked back as he felt? "When did the two of you get it on?"

"It could hardly be described as 'getting it on'," she chided. "It was just a kiss."

He needed to cool it. She'd had 'a moment' with the stick insect ex-husband - so what? Tall, dark and scrawny wasn't a problem, wasn't even on the radar.

He shuffled uncomfortably. "Yeah, sorry, so…" he dropped his hand to her thigh and stroked slowly, "how did that happen?"

"The day after you threw me out…"

Raised eyebrows prompted Harry to clarify.

"That morning when Jay paid you a visit? It was the day after that." She laid a hand on top of his. "I went to see Philip, to let him know that everything had come out. I was a bit overwrought and… well, in a bit of a state really. Philip was being very supportive and it just – happened."

"'kay," said Dempsey steadily. "I can accept that."

But the gritted teeth said otherwise.

"And _our_ misdemeanour was confined to the lounge, James," she told him grimly.

He glanced up, once more filled with contrition only to find a small but knowing smile hooking the corner of her mouth.

"So I think we're even," said Harry, "although I'm possibly a little bit more even than you."

"Okay, we're square," Dempsey agreed with a grin, "and yeah, you're way squarer than me, Princess."

She batted at his hand and Dempsey yelped before turning towards her, stopping so that his cheek was pressed against hers as he whispered, "We good now?"

Harry just nodded, suddenly overflowing with the emotions that had been welling up inside for so long.

"You wanna call Jay – let her know our mission was a success?" he pressed gently.

"And what were you thinking, getting the kids involved?" she scolded but there was no real enmity there.

"Hey, those kids rallied!" he laughed. "I had no idea Ed was gonna give Jay the lowdown after I called yesterday."

"And what exactly did you say to him?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Well, I kinda skirted around the details, spared myself some blushes, you know and then this mornin' our beautiful and tenacious daughter stopped by to meet her brother and to give me the third degree. Got a no holds barred, good ole fashioned grillin' that had I not been on the receivin' end woulda made me proud."

"God, how embarrassing," whimpered Harry.

Dempsey was getting into his stride. "Oh yeah," he mused, "declared herself judge and jury, made sure she had the whole story straight in her mind before she gave her verdict."

Harry winced.

"Lucky for me I guess that she found in my favour otherwise I'd of found myself swingin' by my neck."

"You mean she was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt when I wouldn't," she said sheepishly.

"She said I should get another chance because – and I quote, 'I think my Mum's always loved you'."

Harry was astounded. "Jay said that? She actually said that?"

"Thought it had a nice ring to it."

"It just makes me feel rather strange that's all. That she'd think something like that even to herself. And how would she know anyway?"

Dempsey pulled her closer to him so that her head lay comfortably against his chest.

"You think she hasn't asked around; done a little private investigating these past few weeks, checked out the possibility of loser genes? She talked to her Aunt Angela, her Uncle Chas and probably anybody else who she could find who knew me before she was born."

"Did she?"

Dempsey shrugged. "Guessin' she made an informed decision… decided to help me out based on information received," he laughed.

"And what about your Jack? He's alright with all this? It must be quite... unpleasant for him."

"He wanted in on the action. Said his Mom needs to realise when to give it up," said Dempsey with a certain amount of pride.

"Astute young man," Harry acknowledged wryly.

* * *

They were welcomed back to Kettleworth Avenue by Harry's cat, Magus, who seemed extremely pleased to see them both. He was short on human company these days so having two of them making a huge fuss of him was heaven.

Harry had gone to the kitchen to make them coffee, leaving them in the lounge together.

"How d'you like the idea of your own private fishin' hole, fella?" Dempsey asked conversationally as he scratched under the cat's jaw.

Magus, who was posed on the windowsill, rose up on his hind legs to plant his paws firmly on Dempsey's shoulders.

"I got the perfect spot for you at my place and what it lacks in fish it makes up for in frogs," he grinned as Magus butted his head against his nose, purring wildly. "So I want you on stand-by with your little kitty-cat suitcase, okay buddy?"


	117. Chapter 117

Chapter 117

Juliette left the following day.

She didn't speak to Dempsey again, just told Jack of her intention to go back home early.

Their son was relieved when the tension her presence created finally cleared. Harry saw a different side to him after that; more outgoing, a sunnier personality than she had first encountered and she found that by the end of the holiday, she had become quite fond of him – attached even.

The same could be said of Jay and Ed who were both quite taken with their young sibling. A couple of days after a family night out to see Rock of Ages at the Shaftsbury theatre in the West End, Jay and Ed, along with Lydia, took him ten pin bowling. Just after Dempsey and Harry arrived back at Kettleworth Avenue from an enjoyable dinner with Harry's ex sister-in-law and her husband, Jay rang to let them know they'd be later than expected as they were going on to see a movie straight after the bowling.

It was well past midnight when the four of them finally got in, laughing and messing about, regaling Dempsey and Harry with snippets of their night out together. Harry made tea and toast for them and it was the early hours before everybody got to bed that night.

On Friday, the day of Jack's departure, Jay arrived in Kingston. She had the morning off and wanted to say goodbye.

She handed Jack the large paper carrier bag that dangled from her fingers.

"Just a memento of your visit," she offered.

Jack was surprised by the unexpected gift.

"Cheers!" he said, opening the bag up.

"It's the one we saw in the window on Wednesday," Jay told him, watching his expression shift from puzzlement to delight as he lifted out a charcoal grey trilby hat.

"That's so cool," he laughed, "thanks, Jay."

Dempsey and Harry stood on the sidelines, watching the proceedings, their arms around each other.

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Harry, pointing a finger towards the hat that was now perched jauntily upon Jack's head. "Your Dad used to have one just like that back in the eighties!"

Dempsey grinned as he recalled said hat. "Yeah, 'cept mine was navy blue."

"It wasn't at all – it was black," Harry corrected.

"Blue," he returned with conviction.

"It was Black!"

"Blue."

"I'm telling you it was black and I should know because I pinched it off you in the end, don't you remember?"

Dempsey turned his head so their faces were barely a couple of inches apart. "Hey, that's right – you stole my titfer!" he said indignantly.

Their matching frowns were momentary as they both burst out laughing.

"Mad!" exclaimed Jay with a bemused smile.

"What's a titfer?" asked Jack

* * *

"And what are you two doing for Christmas?" asked Angela, picking up a triangle of long-cold sesame prawn toast. "Here or Harry's?"

Harry looked up at Dempsey quizzically from within the circle of his arm.

"I don't know, we haven't really discussed it, have we?"

"Long way off," Dempsey confirmed, "we got plenty of time to decide."

"Only next month," Chas threw in provocatively, reaching for his beer.

"And I've almost finished the Christmas shopping," Alice chimed in.

Angela made a face. "God, Alice, you're always so disgustingly well organised."

Alice laughed. "I know. Funny how it always winds people up."

The three couples; Dempsey and Harry, Mike and Angela, Chas and Alice had spent a pleasantly relaxed evening together with a Chinese take-away, a few bottles of vino and a crate of beer at the coach house. Although Mike and Angela had been over before it was Chas and Alice's first visit and whilst the men organised the food, Alice insisted on a guided tour from Harry.

"Don't bother asking her when she's moving in," Angela had told Alice, "because she'll just go all coy and say, 'there's no rush'."

The truth was, they'd sort of fallen into a routine; on the nights Dempsey had to put in an appearance at the bar, Harry went home and caught up with Ed and Lydia if they were around, maybe went out to see friends and managed a bit of housework the following morning. As with Christmas, it was something they hadn't really talked about. Sometimes though, like now, when others brought the subject up, she had this tiny, niggling little thought that Dempsey might even be avoiding that particular subject.

"Oh, bugger!" Harry exclaimed loudly.

Five pairs of eyes turned to her questioningly.

"That's just reminded me – Arthur rang this morning…"

The nonplussed reaction prompted her to elaborate. "You know, Arthur – cousin Arthur – Arthur and Eva and all the little cousins; Belinda and Max and Gregory and…" she waved her arm in the air, "little whatz'ername and the other one…"

The others laughed at the results of the vino mucho collapso. "You know, the other one," she persisted. "There are five of them although why anyone needs that many kids is beyond me… not that they're kids anymore of course, 'cept probably little whatz'ername."

"So what did dear cousin Arthur want anyway?" Angela asked. "He's the one with the Hitler moustache isn't he? Have I got that right?"

Again, everyone laughed.

"Noooooo!" Harry sat forward, her hand hanging onto Dempsey's arm as it circled her waist. "That's cousin Bertie and anyway, he moved to Cyprus in '98."

"Arthur's the one with the wife – Eva," Mike suddenly piped up from the far end of the sofa. He'd hardly said a word for the last twenty minutes which to the others made his input now all the funnier.

"We've already established that, darling," Angela told her husband.

Mike smiled into his glass of red. "Thought she was the one with the moustache," he murmured, eliciting more gales of laughter.

"So come on, what did cousin Art have to say for himself?" Dempsey asked at last.

"Oh, yeah," Harry realised they had got a bit off track. "They're going away at Christmas!"

They were silent for a moment, waiting for a follow-up to this unremarkable statement.

"Benidorm?" asked Mike drily.

"No, I mean they're leaving at Christmas… going to Australia!"

"Australia?" Angela repeated. "They can't just go, they've got a contract with you, haven't they?"

Harry took a quick sip of wine. "No they're not emigrating but Arthurs's got a commission to build some big new library in Queensland and he needs to be out there for a while. He was sounding me out this morning. I think he was trying to find out how long I'd be prepared to let Winfield Hall stand empty."

Dempsey frowned. "Yeah but like Angela says, they've got a contract."

"And that place must be a money pit," said Chas. "Surely you can't afford for it to stand empty."

Harry brought her feet up under her and leaned back on Dempsey. "The contract expires in February but he doesn't know how long they'll be in Australia for. Could be a year."

Dempsey whistled languidly. "They wanna come back, you're gonna need a retainer on that, honey."

"I told him I'd get my lawyer to have a look at it," she said dismissively. "The financial implications need going over with a fine toothcomb…but," she noticed Mike's empty glass and the three dead bottles sitting among the remnants of the take-away. "We've got more wine in the kitchen, haven't we, James?" she queried, stating to rise.

"Si' down, Princess, I'll get it."

Harry remained standing and began collecting up the empty beer bottles whilst Dempsey picked up the wine bottles.

"But what I was thinking was," she continued, encompassing them all with a broad smile, "if The Hall is going to be empty over Christmas, how about we throw a massive New Year's Eve party there?"

The reaction was initially subdued.

"I'll get in the caterers, have the place professionally decorated," she encouraged. "A proper bash like in Freddy's day."

Angela raised her almost empty glass. "Bloody marvellous idea and I for one, Harriet, will drink to that," and she knocked back the last remaining mouthful.

"Here, here," was echoed several times.

"Know somethin'?" Dempsey grinned, "I'm likin' the sound of that. In fact, I think it calls for a toast… let me go get a couple more bottles o' this stuff," he waggled one of the empty wine bottles in the air, "and we can seal the deal."

He sped off to the kitched leaving Harry and the others jabbering excitedly about possibole plans for New Year.

At last though, she bounced in after him in her bare feet, laden down with brown glass bottles.

The ivory chiffon dress she wore was cut above the knee, showing off her tanned legs to perfection and although only slightly fitted, it revealed her trim waist beautifully. The long, full sleeves were sheer and gathered tightly at the cuffs with broad bands of mother-of-pearl and diamante. The slash neckline was bejewelled to match and the whole effect was deceptively demure.

"Whoa, steady there," Dempsey laughed as she plonked the empties down on the worktop with a bang.

"Whoops" she giggled, aware that she was probably a little too 'relaxed' to be safe.

A cork was withdrawn from a second bottle with a satisfying 'plop' and Harry's attention was pulled towards Dempsey's job in hand. Her elbow clipped the bottle nearest to her – it teetered for a moment before it fell onto its' side and rolled off the edge of the granite surface.

Dempsey made a lunge towards it but his reactions weren't all they could have been and the bottle hit the tiled floor, smashing into half a dozen jagged pieces.

"Whoops!" Harry said again, finding it quite amusing for some reason. "That one's gone for a burton."

She took a step forwards and bent down to start picking the bits up.

Quickly, Dempsey dumped the wine. "Hey, hey, hey, back up there, Tinkerbell!" he said loudly, stretching out an arm to barricade Harry behind the broken glass. "You're gonna cut your feet to ribbons."

Putting his hands about her waist, he walked her back a couple of steps before hoisting her up and dropping her down beside the rest of the empties on the worktop.

Harry shrieked with laughter. "Oooh, my hero. Be careful darling, I don't want you putting your back out on my account."

Her arms and legs snaked around him, pulling him to her. "I may very well be needing you in full working order later."

"Oh yeah?" His hands spanned her tiny waist as he gazed unashamedly at her parted lips. "How much later? Maybe I should tell 'em the wine is to go."

"Maybe you should," she mused throatily, twining her fingers through his hair as their eyes at last met.

Dempsey was caught up in the bright blue glister of her hunger and knew himself to be a lucky man.

"Think they'd notice if we took some time out?" he asked, half seriously. If Harry pushed his buttons any harder, right here, right now could be an option.

"Don't tempt me."

The sounds of laughter coming from the front of the house barely even registered with them as Dempsey slid his hands down over her hips, feeling the jutting of her hip bones as she pushed forward.

She felt so small, so perfect. He wanted to hold her close and keep her safe and yet there was such a vital energy there too, fresh and malleable under his fingertips. It was, it seemed, the very essence of who she was and that had never changed from the first time they had met.

Her hands moved down to his shoulders, her eyes following, teasing him with her distraction as though she was about to lose interest and push him away and even though he knew she wouldn't – knew it was the furthest thing from her mind, he still held his breath in awful anticipation.

"You were always too much of a temptation to me," she said quietly, a secretive little smile sweetening her lips all the more. "My chocolate fudge gateaux personified."

"Well go ahead – treat yourself."

Her fingers worked along his collarbone, pretending to idly smooth over the soft linen fabric of his shirt.

He kept his gaze on her lowered lashes, just waiting for that moment when she raised those startlingly blue eyes to him again.

Harry felt as though her entire body was silently humming. The wine was playing its' part but it was mainly down to the way they were holding each other – the possessiveness – the tenderness.

With her bare legs wrapped around him, a libidinous flush had stolen through her that she was finding hard to conceal. As his warm hands travelled past her hips to the tops of her exposed thighs, a shiver ran though her and involuntarily her back arched, her eyes snapping up to meet Dempsey's.

_He_ had _her_ now, not the other way round and the small gasp of anticipation that caught in her throat proved that.

Bending his head, he placed a soft, lingering kiss on her lips before drawing back to check the effect it had had. Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked longingly at the gently smiling mouth before sliding her arms up around his neck.

"We really shouldn't be doing this," she breathed.

Dempsey moved his hands down her inner thighs, spreading teasing fingers across the insides of her knees and applying subtle pressure with his palms.

"Any particular reason?" he asked and pushed down slowly, allowing Harry's legs to splay open further and her hips to open up to him.

"Because…" she swallowed down on the tightness in her throat and revelled in his erotic ministrations for a moment longer, "…because what I want right now, I can't have."

"And what exactly is it that you want?" he goaded.

Harry's knees were now almost flat against the grey granite worktop and Dempsey pushed himself to her apex, holding her knees down firmly.

"Oh, God," she whispered into his neck and then laughed shakily. "You. I want you."

Dempsey grinned. "I'd gotten that idea."

Letting her arms fall away, Harry leant back on her hands and he leaned into her, covering her mouth with his in a deep and sensual kiss.

There was only a cruel barrier of fabric between them and their baser instincts and as her body strained to accept him, Dempsey pushed up against her.

Instinctively, Harry now sat forward, arms and legs suddenly wrapped about him, clinging to him in a passionate, desperate need for fulfilment.

"I love you, James," she managed as she drew in a heady lungful of air.

They kissed again, mouths grinding together hard.

"You don't know how much I need to hear you say that, baby," Dempsey said hotly. "I love you too… so much. Spent so many years sayin' that to empty space… 'cause there was only ever you."

"Shut up, Dempsey!" she berated with a wobbly laugh. "I know your game… you're trying to make me cry. Well it's not going to work," she sniffed through a trickle of tears.

He was looking at her, head cocked slightly to one side with the gentlest, most loving smile she had ever witnessed. Silently, he raised his hands and wiped away her tears with his thumbs.

"Too much wine," Harry whispered, taking hold of his wrists.

"What, you mean you _don't_ love me?" he joked softly.

"You know I do." She brought his right hand to her lips and kissed the palm. "I'm ridiculously in love with you, hopelessly and pathetically."

"All's right with the world."

"YOU SEE! I WAS RIGHT!"

They both turned, startled by Angela's loud entrance.

"I knew they'd be canoodling in here."

Harry quickly unwound herself from Dempsey, letting her legs swing free against the cupboard doors below her.

Alice and Angela, followed by Chas and Mike trouped boisterously into the kitchen with their empty glasses.

"That's a tenner you two have cost me!" Chas laughed, exceptionally merry despite his loss.

A look passed between Harry and Dempsey before Harry wriggled off the counter top, smoothing down her short dress with modesty. She stood in front of Dempsey who draped his arms around her shoulders, painfully aware of the need to cover his own modesty.

"A fool and his money, Charles my man," Dempsey quipped.

"We've come in search of that booze we were promised several millennia ago," called Mike, ambling across the kitchen as he spied the two uncorked bottles.

Alice giggled, slipping her arm through Angela's and trotting after him. "I think the lovebirds were just giving it a bit of time to breathe – at least, I expect that's the excuse."

Mike grabbed up the red and Angela throttled the white.

"Well, now we're giving _them_ a bit of time to breathe, aren't we," she said mischievously, fixing the slightly embarrassed couple with a wicked smile.

"Come on Ange," Dempsey drawled, "I hate it when you get all jealous like this."

"Too bloody right I'm jealous!" She tilted her head towards Mike who was happily pouring out the wine. "His canoodling days are long gone and now here's our Harriet more than making up for lost time with her extremely well preserved American. So actually, yes, I'm green, darling."

Dempsey grinned and bent down to nuzzle against Harry's cheek. "Whadya think, Babe? Maybe you could loan me out once in a while, huh?"

"She'd eat you for breakfast!" Harry exclaimed.

"You think so? Wow... bet dinner would be a blast."

Chas rolled his eyes. "You're not fooling anyone, mate. What's that expression they use nowadays… loved up?"

"You can practically hear those wedding bells chime," Alice added.

Behind her, Harry felt Dempsey's hold on her relax just a little bit – felt him stand a little straighter. The very idea obviously panicked him.

Harry smiled radiantly at their friends. "So what are we standing around in here for? Bring those bottles through would you, Mike? We've got a New Year party to organise."


	118. Chapter 118

**This chapter is for angie86. Thanks for raising my 'viewing figures' -)**

Chapter 118

"That mean and moody image of Julius' slipped a bit tonight," Harry noted as she removed the last traces of make-up with a cotton wool pad. "He was on the verge of cordiality at one point."

"See, I knew you'd win the big guy over eventually."

Harry turned away from the bathroom mirror to observe the blurry figure of Dempsey in the shower cubicle.

"I wasn't aware that winning Julius over was on my 'to do' list," she replied sarcastically.

She heard him chuckle as he soaped his chest enthusiastically. "But now you have, you can strike if off and make like it was never even there."

Rolling her eyes, Harry tossed the cotton wool into the bin.

"Anyway, I'm going to read for a bit."

"Okay, I'll be out in ten, Blue," he called after her.

"You're so funny, darling," she called back with a saltily mordant appreciation of his humour.

Back in the bedroom, Harry settled herself into what had become her side of the bed and picked up her book. She had been making slow progress due to the fact that only part of her week was spent in Kingston and when she did spend the night she was generally occupied with things other than reading.

In the run-up to Christmas though, Dempsey was having to spend far more time at the bar and as a consequence, Harry was now a frequent visitor herself. At one point between sets that night it had become ridiculously busy and she had taken it upon herself to step behind the bar alongside Gavin to make up drinks orders for the waitresses. It had only been for twenty minutes but she suspected that word of her good deed had got back to Julius because at closing time as they had all said their goodnights, he had thanked the team for their hard work and a subtle nod of the head in Harry's direction had clearly been including her in his praise.

His grudgingly slow acceptance of her amused Harry to some degree but also she couldn't deny she felt a certain amount of relief. How uncomfortable would it have been had Julius never overcome his prejudged dislike of her? She imagined the dilemmas she would have faced had it been Angela expressing a dislike of James. Of course he wouldn't have faced the silent treatment; oh, far from it. Angela would have been extremely vocal to put it mildly.

That thought made her smile, after all, Angela had always believed in James and had never fully condoned the decision Harry had made all those years ago.

She began to read and then realised she hadn't a clue what was going on in the story. Last time she had attempted it she remembered, she had been interrupted, the book had fallen to the floor and she had replaced the bookmark between random pages the following morning.

But it didn't matter because her attention had just been drawn by the ornate metal ball sitting on the shelf on the opposite wall. It had got to the point where it was annoying her. How many hours all told, she wondered, had she spent puzzling over the damned thing? Weeks ago she had been elated to discover she had managed to reveal a tiny thumbnail-width aperture in its shell and had since found another four of them. But at this point she had come to a full stop. It was just so insanely infuriating! To Dempsey as well it would seem – he didn't understand her fascination with it and at one point his dismissive attitude had made her doubt that it could actually be opened at all. But deep down she knew that it was more than a mere decorative trinket.

Slipping out of bed, Harry went to the shelf and took down the ball. It had become almost a guilty pleasure for her now, a few stolen minutes here and there when James was busy elsewhere. It drew her with an irresistible force that she couldn't quite comprehend although in her mind she had put it down to the fact that it was something he had owned since the days when she originally knew him, something that James considered worthy of hanging on to, something important to him.

On a whim, she went to the chest of drawers a few feet away and taking a small box of matches from out of the top drawer, she lit each of the three sandalwood candles sitting in their glass base.

With her eyes closed, Harry inhaled deeply and revelled in the heady and exotic scent that swelled upon the air. She loved the smell so much; it made her feel… she wasn't sure she could even describe it… elated yet serene at one and the same time.

Picking up the ball again, Harry wandered back to bed with it and settled herself back down.

She could hear the shower running and that combined with the light from the lamp by the side of her and the flicker of candlelight were both contributory factors to her sense of peaceful wellbeing. There was something about this house, this room… funny how James had got it so right when he'd chosen to buy the place. He'd told her he'd bought it with her in mind –a gut instinct that told him this was a house Harriet Makepeace could appreciate. She hadn't even realised she was that same person anymore but apparently she was – a fact he had awoken her to again and again of late.

Throughout that whole sorry mess with Sam Tate, despite everything, she had felt more alive than she had done in years. And now, with the truth about MacKintyre revealed to him along with the existence of his daughter, she felt relieved of a burden she had grown so accustomed to she had scarcely been aware of its' weight until now.

She turned the ball in her hands until she had inspected all of the narrow slits and then began the usual systematic tracing of the fine whorls and fissures with her fingertips. She had discovered that there were a total of five areas of the ball that could be depressed to expose these tiny slits in the shell – a kind of spring mechanism at work within. It had occurred to her that there must be a sort of key to opening it, a sequence in which the springs must be manipulated and she knew it was just a matter of time until she found that sequence. She had to be close now, surely. She hadn't told James of her progress, she wanted to surprise him with a fait accompli and reveal for herself whatever the secret might be that was held inside – if indeed the ball did hold a secret. There was a strong possibility that it was meant to be nothing more than a glorified puzzle; just an interesting curio designed to entertain rather than serve any practical purpose. But still, she wanted to see the look on his face when she cracked it.

Still propped up on pillows, Harry turned onto her side. The ball was quite heavy and her wrists tired when she sat holding it in one position for too long.

She could hear James quietly singing to himself in the shower; a number they'd performed at the bar tonight - Rockstar by Nickelback. They'd played it at the start of the second set with James and Julius sharing the vocals and it had gone down exceptionally well with the audience. Fully aware that he was very far from 'rockstar' status, Dempsey had played the whole thing tongue-in-cheek, starting the number seated in a rocking chair to one side of the stage and finishing by gingerly levering himself back down into it. The band had had fun with the song and it showed. Although Harry had yet to get her head around what James now did (if not for a living then certainly as a paid pastime) even she had to admit that what James, Julius, Pete and Dick did up on stage was damned good.

She flipped onto her back again and wriggled a bit higher up on her pillows, holding the ball up to view it from underneath with all five of the apertures in their 'open' positions. What was it that was stopping the ball from opening? She'd tried poking around with a pair of nail scissors but to no avail and she was as sure as she could be that there were no more apertures to find.

The singing stopped moments before the shower fell silent.

Harry lifted her forearm to check the time but realised she'd left her watch in the bathroom.

As she stretched across the bed to look at the alarm clock on Dempsey's side the ball rolled off her lap.

Twenty-five past one.

She could hear him brushing his teeth.

Pulling herself back, the heel of Harry's hand ground down hard on the top of the ball and she immediately felt something give way.

She sat up sharply and looked down at the ornamental ball.

"I've done it," she spoke aloud with mounting excitement. And then with a huge smile of self-satisfaction she called out, "Dempsey, I've done it!"

The middle section of one half had sprung open and she could see that the inside was stuffed full of off-white tissue paper.

"Done what, Princess?"

Dempsey sauntered out of the bathroom wearing a pair of pyjama trousers, slicking his wet hair back.

"Holy shit!" he muttered under his breath, staring with horror at what she was smugly holding up for his inspection. Squooshing his lips together with his fingers, he swung his arm up to point wildly at her. "You need to put that down, baby… just put it down for a second, okay?"


	119. Chapter 119

**So this is it - the final chapter!**

**A big thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I've picked up readers along the way and I've also lost a few. One or two of you have been there since Chapter One in February last year - you know who you are and I love you for it and by God you've got some stamina! I've enjoyed writing it so much and I'm sorry to see it end. I feel like I've been in my own little world for such a long time and it's quite sad to be leaving it now but I'll be writing other stories and one-shots very soon.**

**Today is Friday 9th December. Tomorrow, a group of us are going to Tunbridge Wells in Kent to see Glynis Barber in her first ever pantomime, Sleeping Beauty so I think it's quite a germane time to be bringing this story to a close. Almost all of us going have met through and our love of Dempsey & Makepeace. It's quite amazing how this combination has brought us together over the months and new D&M friends are always welcome!**

**So here we go - for the last time.**

Chapter 119

Harry smiled warily, trying to decide whether or not Dempsey's apparent alarm was merely play acting.

"What's the matter? It's not a bomb is it?" she asked jokingly.

He nodded distractedly as he reached out to relieve her of her prize.

"Yeah, well, maybe funny you should say that."

Now Dempsey was holding it he seemed unsure of what to do with it.

"There's a possibility it's about to explode in my face, yeah."

"You know what it is!" Light was beginning to dawn and Harry looked up at him in amazement. "You've known all along haven't you?"

Looking down at the ball, Dempsey plucked at the tissue paper half-heartedly with thumb and forefinger. "Uh huh."

Harry didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He looked so incredibly guilty.

"I don't even know how I managed to open it – I just leant on it and…"

He couldn't even look at her.

"… I actually thought I'd broken it at first."

"It's just a combination," he said, eyes still downcast. "Open up the five locks in the right order, press down and the whole shebang just pops open."

"But why pretend you couldn't do it?" she laughed. He was being worryingly cagey she thought.

"Harry…" He looked at her beseechingly.

"I don't understand you. What's the problem?"

Kneeling up on the bed, Harry reached out and took the ball out of his hands again.

He watched it go like a dying man seeing his only lifeline disappear.

She tentatively pulled at the tissue, suddenly feeling Dempsey's agitation with startling clarity.

"It's yours." He sounded almost surly. "I bought it for you twenty-three years ago only I never got the chance to give it to you."

Harry felt a strange, concentric wave start to pass through her whole body like a dark echo.

Wearily, he climbed into bed beside her.

"So open it already! It's yours," he repeated but more softly this time.

Harry found her hands were shaking as she gently eased out the tissue paper.

"What is it?" Her voice sounded small and child-like and she giggled, struggling to find her breath.

She knew. Somewhere deep down a part of her knew exactly what it was but her mind just wouldn't let her get a grasp of it. That was why she was trembling, why she suddenly felt helplessly emotional. Inside the ball was everything she needed and everything she would ever want only she couldn't put a name to it.

"Is it something nice?" she asked, trying with all her might to sound normal.

Dempsey sat with his knees drawn up, ankles crossed and holding his mouth cupped in the palm of his hand. He just shook his head and shoulders rising and falling in quiet, empty mirth.

Wrapped within the crumpled bulk of tissue was a square, burgundy red box and the sight of it as it fell from the ball caused Harry's heart to contract disturbingly hard.

"I'm sorry," said Dempsey, tonelessly, "…if it isn't what you want."

They both stared at it as it lay there on the bed.

Harry knew now what it was but she still wasn't quite registering the implications. He'd bought the ball in New York – she knew this because he'd told her. And the ring within the box – was that also purchased in New York, twenty-three years ago?

Dempsey sighed and smiled sadly as he sat back, wiping with both hands at the tiredness that furrowed his brow.

"Guess I'm too late."

Harry continued to stare for a moment before she slowly lifted her eyes to his.

"Too late?" she asked spacily.

"Too late, too soon, too wrong… I don't know."

Harry picked up the little box and opened it with mechanical courage.

"I see," she said quietly as a delicate while gold diamond cluster was revealed to her.

"Had this stupid dream ya see, Angel, way back when… that you were gonna realise how you couldn't live without me, hop on a plane and I'd be there at the other end to put that ring on your finger."

She nodded, biting down on her lip as her eyes remained fixed on the ring.

"So which is it?" he prompted. "Too late? At least too soon would mean I got hope."

Dempsey laughed nervously but still there was no response from Harry.

"So I take it that means I read the whole situation wrong," he continued grimly.

The pained expression he read in her eyes was tearing him apart.

"Never really had a chance in hell did I?"

There was a tiny and sudden intake of breath when Harry seemed to come-to.

"You bought this when you first went back to New York? You wanted to… to marry me? It was true then – what you said to Jay about wanting to get married and have a family."

"Sure it was true! I wouldn't lie about somethin' like that."

Harry's brow knitted with frustration as she said, "I really, really wish I'd known that at the time. I'd have tried so hard to make a go of it."

She looked up. "It wasn't just about MacKintyre, James, you must know that. I had doubts… not that you loved me but that you'd _always_ love me. and then adding a child into the equation… I thought it was expecting too much of you – of us really I suppose. God knows I had a hard enough time myself getting my head around the idea of having a baby."

"It was my fault too."

For the moment, the ring was forgotten.

"I shoulda told you sooner how I felt but I wanted to do it right, ya know? The original plan was to spill my guts at Thanksgiving. I was gonna tell you I wanted us to make some kind of commitment. Didn't think you'd go for the marriage thing but I was gonna suggest that we move in together and screw the consequences. We could of got a transfer out of London… I was willing to ditch the job even, if it meant us stayin' together."

Harry smiled faintly. "I didn't know. I didn't realise. Maybe I was just too stubborn to see it."

Reaching out, Dempsey gently pushed aside an errant lock of her hair.

"I just left it too late, Babe. I wanted you back so bad after I left. I knew I'd made a mistake and so I had it all planned out; how if I could get you to use the plane ticket then everythin' else would fall into place."

Harry was mortified. "You bought this," she raised the open box containing the ring, " and you waited for me to come."

"Yeah, I know – crazy."

She laughed brokenly. "Oh, God… James."

Her mind's eye was suddenly seeing that horrible, horrible night at Camberwell Grove after MacKintyre and his cronies had gone, after she had cleaned away the evidence of their invasion and after she had realised that the suitcase by the front door was destined never to travel to the United States.

"I gave up… I just gave up on us, didn't I?"

That night had been a crossroads. She could have gone to him and to hell with the consequences that she had feared MacKintyre might have set in motion but she chose to hide herself away at her father's country estate and learnt to pretend that she hadn't just lost the only man she had ever truly loved. Ironically, that decision had set her on a pathway that she hadn't expected to be walking again after her abysmal marriage to Robert Makepeace.

Hadn't she seen herself as Police Commissioner by the time she was fifty? Instead though she had somehow got syphoned off down the married with two point four children route again. If it wasn't for the fact that she earned her own living and was what could laughingly be called 'her own boss', she could very possibly have become one of those pointless women she so despised.

She knew now that had she gone to Dempsey – even if she'd married him, had those two point four children with him and maybe never worked another day in her life, it would have been a life _very _far from pointless.

"And I ran away."

Dempsey's voice pulled her back to the here and now.

"I should of stayed and fought for you."

"It was never that straightforward though was it," she murmured.

She held out the little box for him to take – which he did with stoical good humour. "We can't turn back the clock, James."

"You know, I was on tenterhooks every time you even so much as looked at that God-damned ball," he grinned. "Didn't want you to work it out too soon – didn't want to scare you off. All down to timing again and my timing has always been way off beam where you're concerned."

He snapped the lid shut.

"Maybe one day, huh, Harry?"

"One day very soon," she said in a confusingly serious tone.

"How's that?" her queried, now totally perplexed by her attitude.

Nodding towards the ring box, Harry returned rather disparagingly, "If you're going to do something, Dempsey, I do wish you'd try to do it properly."

"Am I missin' somethin' here?"

"There's a certain etiquette involved in these occasions of which I'm sure even you must be perfectly aware."

He saw her lip _hook_ as she played 'Haughty Harriet' and his heart flipped.

"Etiquette?"

He couldn't be sure she was meaning what he hoped she was meaning.

"It would be customary for you to get out of bed and get down on your knees… well, one knee but the full-blown begging stance would work equally well, if not better."

Dempsey's eyes lit up.

"You're sayin' yes? You wanna get hitched?"

She allowed herself a small smile. "I think we've waited long enough, don't you?"

Dempsey whooped. "Hell, yeah!"

Flipping back the quilt, he leapt from the bed and dropping to one knee, looked up at her expectantly. Harry scooted to the edge of the bed and sat back on her heels, laughing at the sight before her.

"Harry?" he asked in as solemn a voice as he could muster given the grin that had taken control of his face.

"Yes, James?" she played along.

Her heart was pounding so hard she was afraid the sound of it would mask his next words.

He opened the lid and raised the box up in offering. His fingers were trembling.

"Would you please do me the great honour of becoming my wife?"

"I would love to."

Dempsey remained on his knee as he fumbled to get the ring out of the box, both of them laughing at his efforts.

"Okay, here we go, Princess." He reached out and took her proffered hand in his. "Once I got this on your finger there ain't no goin' back – you know that?"

Harry waggled her finger. "Just hurry up would you?"

"Can't exactly take it back to the store if it doesn't fit either," he hesitated.

"I'll get it adjusted if needs be… I know a very good jeweller."

He chuckled and slipped the ring on.

"How's that feel?"

"Perfect!" she beamed.

To her surprise when he stood up, instead of getting back into bed, he strode quickly to the balcony door on the other side of the room to sweep back the curtains.

"What are you doing now?" she asked, rather disappointed that she wasn't at this point wrapped in his arms.

Dempsey flung open the door and stepped out into the chill, dark, November night.

"Hey!" he yelled. "I'm gettin' married…"

"Dempsey… you idiot!"

She bounded from the bed to go after him.

"… to a princess!" he continued at the top of his voice.

"Shhhhh,,, James," Harry hissed, grabbing his arm and giggling. "What are you doing?"

He turned to her. "I'm tellin' the world," he grinned. "Somethin' wrong with that?"

Harry looked up into his warm, excited eyes and saw everything that was right with it.

She recalled so vividly him once telling her that love shouldn't ever have to be kept a secret. They'd been sitting in her car, her screaming and ranting after finding out about some woman he'd kissed the night before. And then he'd let her have it with both barrels.

He had told her how he felt – how he really felt about their relationship; how keeping their feelings for each other a secret was eating him up, how it was hurting him not even to be able to touch her in front of other people and the most painful thing of all – thinking Harry was actually ashamed of him.

She remembered how that little revelation had sliced through her.

Yes, he had sometimes embarrassed her with his loudness, his brashness and his American 'attitude' but never once had she ever, _ever_ felt ashamed of him. She had loved him with an intensity that had completely masked such emotions and to find out he had been harbouring that pain had been a blow to her very soul.

It was starting to drizzle just a little bit and it was colder than it had been in months.

Harry spread her hands flat against Dempsey's bare chest and reached up to kiss him tenderly.

Without a backward glance she left him to go and stand at the balcony rail where she took hold of the cold metal and leaned forward into the darkness.

And then, without restraint, she shouted out as loud as she possibly could manage, "We're getting married!"

_**THE END**_

**So do we need an Epilogue? I'm toying with the idea just to tie it all up and gift wrap it in loveliness but might be a bit of overkill? Let me know. **


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